#but the convenience of just switching back and forth seems nice

[st4rstudent]

Quick question . For anyone who has a sideblog (or an ask blog) is it worth doing the "new blog" option thats linked to you main or is it better just to make an entirely new account

[slythereen]

apologies if you’ve answered this before or if there’s not really a specific gathered resource, but you seem knowledgeable about such things!— i am interested in learning more about f1 racing, do you have any recommendation for where to find a beginners guide/‘f1 for dummies’/place to begin learning more?

hello!!! i am also rather new to the sport and had to consume massive amounts of content from all over the place and frankly am still learning a lot all the time, so i'm not exactly an expert. what i can share are resources i relied on in my own ✨ descent into madness ✨ though !

so, my incomplete and questionable guide to selling your soul to f1:

it's all about how you like to learn and consume media tbh. i tried to watch a race initially, was confused, regrouped and started exploring. personally i watched all of dts up to the current season and then watched the first few races that i had missed while obsessively trawling twitter to learn more and waiting for my first live race (aka australia this year — massive rip). but it's up to you how you dive in!!

drive to survive

don’t get me wrong, dts has its issues — they invent drama, have some misleading portrayals, like to splice together clips from different race weekends together. it’s definitely more of a creative project than a straight up documentary. 

that being said, it also explains a lot of the lore and history behind the sport, teams, and drivers in an entertaining fashion. it’s newcomer friendly so it explains the rules. yes, will buxton gets a lot of heat for stating the obvious, but some of those obvious explanations are helpful for the clueless. 

there are also a lot of very cool shots and some good exclusive interviews that they get. sure, you can probably find them clipped on youtube, but may as well just watch dts. the first season is a little slow if you’re like me and want to see charles immediately (worth noting not all teams had agreed to participate s1), but that’s just me. 

(plus: it’s entertaining. i live for drama. just take said drama with a grain of salt and assume it’s probably invented or blown out of proportion.) 

the tiktok girlies 

again: tiktok can be a bit hit or miss. you’ll see a lot of bad takes and pure cringe if you linger too long on f1 tiktok. but i started watching content from a few f1 girlies who seems reliable and had friendly introductory content. they’re generally very nice and happy to answer questions. 

after a while i stopped watching them just because i no longer needed the intro information or explanations, but they did help fill in gaps and point out some of the inaccuracies of dts. 

some who helped me learn more:

@/lissiemackintosh (okay she's an f1 presenter but she's cool as shit i love her queen of the paddock etc etc)

@casxf1 (intro content is sort of her Thing)

@formula_dev (she was my go-to girlie for learning)

@f1toni

f1tv content 

i am pretty sure f1tv isn’t available in all countries, but i have always watched races through f1tv. there are a lot of ways to watch races live illicitly if that’s what you prefer, and other countries have sky or other channels they can watch on (USA also has espn), but i prefer f1tv because i’m too lazy to find streams and don’t want to worry about stream issues mid race. 

plus: f1tv comes with a whole archive of past seasons and a host of other media content during race weekends (ie, the fia press conferences on thursday, post-quali and post-race). they have a tech talk series that explains some of the technical aspects, do weekend warm-ups each race weekend that gives an update/context, and have been adding more intro content on the platform. there’s an app, which is convenient. 

the f1tv stream also allows you to use the channel switcher to choose between your commentary options (f1tv or sky’s commentators), or to see the live timing data, or to see any of the driver onboards. it’s quick and you can switch back and forth easily. (if your computer can handle it — my mac often can’t — you can use multiviewer with your f1tv subscription to set up a bunch of different screens and panels to watch, for example, the main stream and a driver’s onboard. or multiple onboards. or whatever you want basically. personally i usually put the race on my ipad and the onboard on my phone, because that streams perfectly and multiviewer likes to kill my laptop.) 

the downfall of f1tv is that they don’t have a smart tv app yet. idk why. it’s very irritating. it also might be a bit expensive to some, but i think it’s worth it. 

f1 twitter (hell)

it’s a minefield out there. truly. BUT my next big question, after starting to get into watching races live and watching some old seasons and learning how it works, is how people seemed to always be in the know about paddock gossip. i wanted to know about it as it was happening and see the ~drama~ unfold live and feel like i was part of the season actually occurring. 

so: twitter. follow your teams, follow your drivers, the for you tab is actually your friend here because it’ll bring new journalists and f1 commentators into your orbit as you learn who is who. some of the big driver fan pages operate as sources of information and updates with relative stealth if not immediate updating. 

at this point i follow enough people (and have infected my algorithm enough) that i tend to see gossip and updates across most of the teams. big news tends to get shared by everyone anyway. 

if you prefer tumblr, you can still get A Lot of updates on drama and gossip pretty quickly. there is a bit of a delay between information hitting twitter and information hitting tumblr (partially because none of the official teams or drivers have accounts on tumblr; partially because of the amount of people on f1twt versus f1blr). BUT, a lot of us tumblr girlies liveblog during the races and sessions and bring any crucial content over from twitter to share here, so the info will probably be here eventually/soonish. (following the race tags each weekend will prob give you a lot of the quick updates live.) 

some great charles specific update accounts

@leclercsletters

@leclercdata

@/charlsleclerc

@cleclercfansuk

others i follow for the 🍵 (not necessarily CL fans/i follow some ppl i disagree with for the intel) 

@fiadocsbot (😭) / @f1 / other official accounts press etc. 

@_allthatglitz

@maranellosaint

@scuderiafemboy (actually also has tumblr)

@fm1_3316

@/lecstappens

@candeleclerc16

@/elpredestinato

@formuleo_

@pikaclerc

@leclerqz

@fottitiferrari

@/f1tami

@/htrs4piastri

@estestroll

@fanaticsferrari

there are certainly more i see on my timeline all the time !!! this is just skimming through my following on the train 😭

tbh if i started trying to list tumblrs with hot takes that i follow we might be here all day. note to self: make my following list public lmfao

introductory posts & masterlists & others

full disclosure: these are resources i went hunting for out of curiosity and never actually used myself, but they looked fun and funky so yaknow. if there are iconic masterlists that i am missing, rip, someone please feel free to add or correct me. some of these are definitely seasons of old (aka like last year) but you get the point.

f1chronicle has this guide!

f1 put out their own beginner's guide to f1 video but it's like......5 minutes (and here is their longer intro video for 2023)

this much longer intro to the rules video by school of sports looks promising

apparent f1 also has a whole category of articles in their beginner's guide series

@babssionate's ppt guide to f1 and drivers intro

@shuntedmate's (sister's) ppt beginner's guide to f1

pitwall's beginner guide to f1 ppt

@race-week's guide to getting into the technical side of f1 (and whole blog appears to be some cool info on drivers and histories etc)

here is @lestappenforever's glorious guide to charles' driving style that i re-found while trying to figure out if i have a reference list tag (i dont)

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

Interdimensional Therapy AU - Part 1

A crossover AU made by me and @laughteronsilverwings

Next Part

Possible TWs for this part: none, but please let me know if anything is missed.

(there will be swearing and a lil bit of only mildly vulgar language) /lh

Starts with s!jeanist's (Silver's Jeanist) pov, when there is a '-' it switches to e!jeanist (Eclair's Jeanist) and so on, so forth.

There’s a little bit of popping in his ears, like he’s suddenly been dropped into the deep end of a pool, when he can hear and see and feel things again. Tsunagu’d been in the middle of a- well, not a villain fight, but it was… a fight. Kinda. Not really, but legally it was. Not that that really mattered. 

(Yeah, he’s pretty sure it was a quirk accident, but… well. The other guy had been taller than him. And he’d had a knife? And was shouting? But there hadn’t been any punches thrown, and the shouting wasn’t at him, so Tsunagu wouldn’t consider it a fight. It was a skirmish at most.) 

He looks up. 

…Ah. 

What the fuck? 

There was an adult-him- well, sort of, the bigger Tsunagu didn’t look old. Just older. And he was staring at Tsunagu with equal befuddlement. He swallows. “Ah… hi? Hello?” 

Adult-him looked like he was deeply in thought. Fair enough. Tsunagu would give him a minute or a second before poking him. Oh, actually… where were the two of them? 

He looked around. Huh. An apartment. With… oh, was that a fruit bowl? He walked over. It was, but sadly, it was empty. Tsunagu picked it up and shook it a little bit, then put it back down. 

Still no fruit. Nothing but an empty bastion of sadness and misery. And, well, Tsunagu was hungry, and this was (probably) his older self. So. What’s older-Tsunagu’s is his, too, by definition. Yeah. 

He looked around for a kitchen. Or a snack drawer. Oh- wait, was his shoulder bag… Tsunagu reached out to check with his quirk. Yep, still there. Along with his homework. His overdue homework- and, well, Tsunagu did have time to work on it now. And honestly, this was quite literally just another day of the week. 

Unless this was an alternate dimension and there were no weekdays here. He very sincerely hopes this isn’t an alternate dimension. Tsunagu doesn’t think his schedule could handle that, even with him being back in Japan for a few months. He sits down at the table, keeps an eye on older-him, and pulls out his maths homework. 

Right, question one… trigonometry. Soh-cah-toa. So that was using calculation sin, with the opposite line being three and a half meters, and the angle being- ah, big-him was starting to look around. Nice. Tsunagu loathed math with every fiber of his being, so this was a wonderful distraction. Thanks, big-him.

-

Ah.

This was new.

Tsunagu rubbed his head and squinted at the now-coming-into-focus figure in front of him. Wait- what happened?

A chase….right! Yeah, there was a chase! Some guy was caught robbing a local convenience store while Jeanist was on patrol, causing him to chase him down and end up in the middle of the road….there was a car….

Yes! That’s right, he was about to get it by a car, but then there was a weird light? A falling sensation.

And now he was here.

Here? Yes, ‘here’ seemed very familiar…

Tsunagu’s eyes darted to the large tapestry of a …nevermind what… on the wall that he knew must be there, if they were where he thought they were.

‘My apartment?’ Tsunagu thought to himself. ‘My apartment in…oh my god- we’re not in japan-’

Oh. Yeah. The person in front of him, that was an important thing to take note of- considering that they were in his apartment, and this….kid?.....was just looking around and had already seemingly made himself comfortable and-

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Tsunagu gave a face of bewilderment as he stared at what seemed to be himself…standing in front of him…only, it was a younger him- teenage him? Yes, probably- oh who knows?

Just a second ago he was running after a villain and now? Standing face to face with…himself?

Clearing his throat he tried to form a sentence, or a word, or some form of communication- but all that came out was just a rather loud “Ah…”

This was way too confusing.

-

Tsunagu nodded at big-him’s words. “Yeah, same here,” He replied, while squinting down at the equation. Triangles. You’ve gotta loathe them at some point. “So… is this your apartment?” Oh, yeah. “And, uh, if it is, why do you have a dick on the wall?”

He gestures towards the -actually, really well-made- tapestry on the wall. 

-

Tsunagu scratched his head for a moment, trying to rapidly process that there was another him in the room, and that younger-Tsunagu was sitting at the table doing…math homework? Nevermind that.

He shook his head to gather his thoughts. “Ah- yes, sorry- this is…very confusing. This is my apartment though, yes. And uhh…”

Tsunagu looked up fondly at the tapestry. “Well, it's a long story-”

-

Tsunagu cocks his head. “...Alright. So… I got hit by a quirk. And then just.” He gestures in the air with his pencil. “Ended up here. Um, how old are you?” He squints at bigger-him. “Oh.” A thought hits Tsunagu. “Are we from the same, well, timeline, or are we different? I don’t know the guy that hit me with the quirk, so. It could go either way.” 

He puts the math homework away. “Do you want to sit down? And do you have another name for yourself- well, if you don’t, you can just refer to me as ‘Arcane’.” 

Bigger-him is… probably a hero. Maybe. But then again, Tsunagu himself is sure he’s going to be a hero in name, at least. 

– 

Tsunagu hummed and walked over to the table, taking a seat opposite younger-him and leaning back in the chair. 

“Yes…quirk, that makes sense…” he trailed off, staring at the unplugged fridge in the kitchen. “I was in the middle of a villain chase and ended up in the road and…OH-”

Tsunagu very rapidly patted himself down, ignoring the questioning look from younger-him, before sighing. “Well, thank god the car didn’t hit me this time- anyway- yes, I just ended up here, like you said.”

There was a second of silence before he realised he didn’t answer any of younger-him’s questions. “Sorry, it’s been a busy day.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m 21…how old are you right now? And uh, well, ‘Best Jeanist’ but feel free to shorten that to whatever you want.”

He thought for a moment. “Hold on, ‘Arcane’, you say? That…doesn’t sound or feel familiar to me…” He gave younger-him a questioning look.

-

Uh. Well. How was Tsunagu supposed to summarize the events of his two weeks in Paris? The cult? The murder? The general tomfoolery with the criminal underworld? He considers this for a second. Well, the other Tsunagu (not big-him, since that this one was not him, and yikes) had no idea about his vigilante alter-ego. “It’s my nickname,” He decides to say, avoiding the topic neatly. “Best Jeanist? Like- the award?” 

The initials also spell out ‘blowjob’ but, like. Tsunagu’s not gonna mention that to another version of himself on their first meeting. “I’ll call you Jean,” He decides. “Car? This time?” 

It seemed like that Jean had an, ah, unconventional life. Tsunagu’s been in plenty of situations, but he can firmly say that he’s never gotten hit by a car before. “I’m fifteen. Almost fifteen. A week away from being fifteen.” He considers this. “So I guess I’m an honorary fifteen-year-old. You’re twenty-one, huh? That’s… around five or six years worth of difference.” 

He looks around. “Why is your fridge unplugged?” With the empty fruit bowl, the general state of things in this apartment… “Oh, is this a safe house? Ah- actually, we should compare notes on how we got hit with the quirk. Maybe we can even share our backstories, make this a bonding session,” Tsunagu muses out loud to the probably-alternate version of himself. “Unless you don’t want to. And if we promise to keep everything said in here secret.” Damm, what if the quirk that’d hit them had a recording aspect? 

Or maybe this was just some elaborate hallucination. That was a possibility, too. But Tsunagu was pretty sure that his brain would be able to do better at making another version of him; no offense intended to Jean. But they seemed very different, and he guesses that five-or-six years would do that. 

…They did look different visually, though. Masks on both of them, different hairstyles, and other-him wasn’t wearing glasses. Maybe contacts, though. And the other-him was all in denim. Nothing against denim. But he seemed- themed around it? Maybe? Oh, wait, twenty-one, that was… a year or two in heroics? Oooh, maybe Jean’s full hero title thing, assuming he was in Japan, was something like ‘Best Jeanist, the denim hero’? 

Not bad for a tagline. Heroics was half job, half advertising, at this point. Tsunagu’s being a little bit harsh, though, so probably three-quarters job, one-quarter advertising. Or maybe even the other way around, in the bigger leagues. It depended. 

Also, this other-him (Jean, damm, he’s gotta remember that that’s his nickname for Jean now) seems to be kinda spacey. Thinking about things a lot. Maybe not a good thing, but this is literally their first conversation, so Tsunagu’ll hold off on psychoanalyzing Jean. Besides. Plenty of people are like that, so… maybe this is just one of the differences?

…Oh dear, he’s been talking for a while. “Sorry,” Tsunagu says to an amused-looking -well, maybe, he wasn’t too sure, the mask covered a lot and he can’t read him yet- Jean. “I talk when I’m interested in something. Usually I keep it internal, though.” And he doesn’t say half the things he thinks out loud. This was kinda weird for him. 

Probably something about being plucked from his universe into another’s. Well. No taking it back now, he supposes.

-

Tsunagu watched younger-him ramble, and he couldn't help but feel a little amused. That’s one thing they must have in common, considering this was not him- well, it was him- but it wasn’t- ah. You get the point.

“No, please, don’t worry about it. I uh- do the same thing.” He chuckles quietly. “But anyway, fifteen, right? Hm. Yeah, you’re definitely not me when I was fifteen, that’s for sure…”

He probably shouldn’t mention that he gets hit by cars unfortunately often…well, he probably doesn’t need to- 

“Ah, the fridge…yes, this is, well, basically a safe house.” He looked around at his apartment, making note to fix that light that was above the bed, again. “Sorry, it’s pretty shabby. I lived here for a couple of years, but I haven’t visited since I went back home to Japan, so it’s a little bit of a mess.” 

Tsunagu doesn’t like mess. Well, he doesn’t- but younger-him? Arcane, was it? Who knows if that were the same.

-

Ah. Jean had trailed off a little bit. Tsunagu decided to ignore this- it wasn’t a big deal, and he’d had both weirder and worse conversations. Like the one with the priest back in his two weeks in Paris- he’d kept ensnaring Tsunagu, and it had just. Not been fun at all. “Basically a safe house?” He asked Jean. “So- a semi-safe-house?” 

Definitely not me when I was fifteen, he’d said. So… unfortunately, Tsunagu’s suspicions had been correct. Again. 

He’d been yeeted into another universe. Wonderful. 

Tsunagu really, really hates being correct sometimes. He reaches out to gently poke Jean in the shoulder, because he hasn’t responded for a little bit, and sometimes it’s better to just… kinda? Provoke people into talking? Yes. That, but on a lesser and less annoying scale.

-

“Ah-” Tsunagu felt a light poke and snapped out of his train of thought. He zoned out. Whoops. “Sorry- bad habit…”

Bad habit indeed…

He shook his head and leant back into his chair again, being careful not to fall off. “Semi-safe house…” he muttered, trying to trace back to where the conversation was before.

“Oh! Right, you said about…comparing backstories…didn’t you?” He sighed, observing the other in front of him- Arcane-

Yes. Something wasn’t quite right about this. They definitely weren’t the same person, so maybe comparing stories would be a good idea.  But how on earth does he even start on…all that??

----------------End Part---------------

s!jeanist: uh- oop, guess im here now. cool. hmm? hey, there's an older-me! or an other-me. oooh, fruit bowl- empty :(

e!jeanist: *thinking*

e!jeanist, suddenly speaking: oh fuck we're not in japan

s!jeanist: hey so why do you have a dick tapestry???

e!jeanist: um. weLL- you see- uh. it's... a long story?? who ar- oh, youre a younger me... ah.

s!jeanist: yeah probably. im arcane

e!jeanist: ...that doesnt sound familiar. im best jeanist

s!jeanist, thinking blowjob: ill call you jean. lets swap backstories.

e!jeanist, internally: shit

-

Amazing summary there, Silver, I couldn’t have said it any better myself /lh

[chancedarling]

It's almost as though a switch is flipped. All of that drive and purpose seems to drain out of her in a moment. Not so rigid and snapping - both physically or verbally. Chance has to wonder if it's exhaustion settling in (because he's pretty fucking exhausted himself, but - this is prime time, opportune moments - weary minds become unguarded - and that is something he refuses to let pass him by).

She comes round to the idea of water. And that's something. Of course she doesn't just stick her head under the tap like a curious cat, lapping away at the trickle. There's still a manner of practicality about her. And forward thinking. Her original goal is out of sight, so she had refocused... Boil, cool, drink. Make it safe. Weary then, but still wholly in tune with their immediate situation. She might be an abrasive bitch, but she sure as hell is practical... Useful.

Chance just nods like the eager to please puppy, setting the spatula aside and taking the pan. There's a moment of noise that seems abruptly loud in otherwise silence of the little hut. Water against metal seeming to blast the senses for a moment, before he's turning the tap down to a more manageable flow...

"Oh, damn... sorry, your headache... Sorry."

A slight grimace at the momentary clamour and a quick apology. (As if her slamming the cupboard doors and drawers hadn't been loud enough).

But it's echoed in a 'sorry' of her own. Hmm... Self-realisation? Maybe. He's not sure what exactly she's apologising for, but it's there regardless. Self-aware too then. Abrasive but useful was turning out to be intriguing indeed.

Making a point of putting the pan onto the hob 'quietly' he fiddles with a couple of the dials before he figures out which works which and he flicks it on... Power. Heat.

These 'too clean' neat little cabins with their power and water. Little abodes just away from the shoreline like a commune settlement.

Too fucking convenient.

He watches her move from the corner of his eye. And that sofa looks real fucking comfortable about now. Something to stretch out on and let the bliss of sleep overwhelm him. Undoubtedly, Chance is on the last of the fuel in his own tank, but he's going to keep pushing regardless. He can't... Won't... Succumb. Not yet. The crash will be hard when it hits, but hopefully, it'll be worth it.

You��re doing an excellent job Chance

Well fuck him sideways with a rusty rake. Was that - a compliment? Abrasive and useful may also be condescending, but she's saying it to the person Chance is being to her right now. Give the puppy a treat. A scritch behind the ear. Keep it happy.

He's boiling a pot of water for fucks sake. You should see what he can do with the dow jones on a slow day.

However the puppy obligingly wags it's tail... Or rather, Chance turns and casts a bright, pleased smile over his shoulder at the 'praise'.

Ah, and now the idle chit-chat. Okay, he can oblige with that too. Drip feed a little rambling nonsense, close enough to the truth not to be an outright lie, close enough to a lie to reveal nothing about the truth.

"You mean for like... A living...? Oh.... Uh, that is what I do."

He turns now, resting against the cabinet to one side of the pan, glancing back and forth between the pot and the woman on the couch. A watched pot never boils. Of course it fucking does. What kind of bollocks is that? But he manages to once again look a little nervous at the revelation. Because hey, lets keep peoples expectations nice and low...

"I... Play games. For money. Poker and stuff... Online. Sometimes video games. They have tournaments with prizes and... Uhm... Yeah."

"It's kinda neat though... I can live off what I like doing and... It's fun and I have a lot of friends online from like - all over the world - and..."

Suitably both enthused and sheepish. Because playing games was a slackers life, right?

(It really depended on the game).

"W-what do you do? If you, uh... Don't mind me asking?"

Like he gives a shit if she minds of not. There are a few guesses, for sure. He's pretty sure he saw her hovering around people on the beach... A leader. A professional of some kind. A take charge make way kind of person... But why speculate when you can simply - ask?

Akhila didn’t know what to anchor herself against, the island was idyllic save for the monotonous chirpy voice but it didn’t feel steady. The young lad, well, he shouldn’t be carrying burdens, much less her own. Akhila leant against the doorframe that separated the two rooms. He doesn’t know Panganiban, so there goes her idea of getting him to squirrel away and find the so-called survivalist. Akhila was in two minds whether he up to his neck in it, or actually knew what he was talking about. He was loud. Maybe that’s all they needed right now to make it over the initial horror of being left behind.

Meanwhile, before she could put into action any haphazard plans Akhila’s staring at him, Chance. He’s been stood there this entire time and as irritating as it is, Akhila can’t totally begrudge him for it. Clearly the young man is in shock. He’s been clutching the spatula like it was his lifeline. Couple of fried eggs, toast and bacon, they’d all be right as rain. She is hungry, she can’t remember the last time she’d eaten and as tasty as the feast smelt. Akhila knew she couldn’t succumb to it.

Water.

In her desire to keep people happy, off her back, and perhaps aid her own woes. She’d overlooked the key to their success, and survival. Akhila slumped, she was getting sloppy and that was how mistakes were made. “We’ll need to drink.” Akhila agreed. He’d abandoned the spatula to fiddle with the tap, proving it had a supply of water.

They had no way of knowing how clear the supply was, and if it was safe to drink. “We should boil it first.” Regardless, Akhila had conceded. She came back to the tiny kitchenette to help produce a large pot and passed it to Chance so he could fill. 

It wouldn’t guarantee their safety, but it was a step up over drinking it plain. There was every chance it was safe to drink and this was an unnecessary step. Akhila would rather not risk it. “Sorry…” She said quietly, supporting herself against the countertop. Akhila had let herself be swept up by the force of her own adrenaline, but without a true final purpose. 

“You’re doing an excellent job Chance.” She reassured him, in the same way she reassured residents—reluctantly. Akhila had been reprimanded more than once for her bedside manner, for patients and colleagues alike. Akhila’s gaze searched beyond him and settled on one of the sofas. The moment she sits down, everything feels as though it unravels. Akhila doesn’t know where to begin piecing it back together. “What do you do, besides gaming that is?” 

[rocorambles]

Surprise Interview

Pairing: Kenma x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Pseudo-Cest, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Verbal Humiliation, Manipulation

Summary: Kenma sees if you have what it takes to be Bouncing Ball’s newest employee.

A/N: This is for @sugawara-sweetheart ‘s Decadence Collab. So excited to be a part of this collab and to be able to indulge in such a delicious prompt and theme. Be sure to check out everyone else’s works! As always, thanks for beta-ing @sawamooora ~

There’s a familiar peace and a new nervousness about coming back home for the holidays. Mostly because home isn’t quite the same home it used to be. You can feel warmth blooming in your chest at the thought of seeing your mom, telling her about everything and everyone (as if your daily phone calls aren’t enough), and just lounging around while she fills you up with her cooking. But you can also feel a certain shyness as you approach the house, a building that still feels brand new and strange to you.

Your mother had gotten remarried during your earlier college years after your father’s passing and you were elated for her. If anyone deserves all the happiness in the world, it’s her. You had met Mr. Kozume quite a few times and you have no qualms with the man. He treats your mother like a queen and even though you playfully gag as they sweet talk and kiss in front of you, you wholeheartedly approve of their relationship.

However, what you aren’t quite as prepared for is having a new step-sibling.

You don’t know much about Kenma Kozume. Well, not much more than the rest of the world does.

Professional gamer. Successful stock trader. Popular YouTuber. Founder of his own corporation.

You know exactly who your new brother is, but other than seeing him a few times in person at family gatherings and exchanging polite greetings, there’s no real connection. Which is why your heart races as you nervously ring his doorbell, anxiety already making your leg twitch as you wait for the door to open.

Your mother and step-father are on a couple’s vacation and won’t be returning for a few days.

(“We just want some romantic time together before we have a full house again for the holidays. Plus this is a great chance to get to know your older brother better!” You hadn’t even been able to get a word of protest in before she had laughed and hung up on you, leaving you speechless and on your own as you hesitantly texted Kenma, letting him know what day to expect you.)

Kenma is quiet as ever as he nods in greeting, silently leading you to your guest room before quietly telling you to make yourself at home and leaving to do his own thing. You let out a huge sigh of relief as the door closes behind him.

There’s nothing wrong with Kenma. He’s smart and successful. Maybe a bit on the quiet side, but that only adds to his down to earth charm. You know your mother and step-father adore him and you can’t blame them. Yet, you can’t help but feel scrutinized, seen so clearly in a way that terrifies you when his feline eyes gaze at you. It takes everything in you not to immediately scurry away whenever you’re in viewing distance of him, desperate to hide all the flaws you imagine he’s noticing and calculating. Your step-father had mentioned how Kenma used to be the strategist of his high school volleyball team, and has always been able to evaluate and accurately break down situations and people. And you believe it.

You’re just grateful the house is large enough to avoid each other and that Kenma tends to reside mostly in his home office and bedroom.

But even the founder of a company needs a break from time to time. Kenma shuffles towards the gaming room, only to blink in surprise when he sees you already inside of it, happily smiling as Animal Crossing visuals and sounds fill the space.

He had known you owned a Nintendo Switch, a piece of information your mom had shared to break the ice a bit. And it’s really no surprise that this is your go-to game. But knowing and seeing are two different things and he can’t help but let his own lips twitch upwards at how calm and relaxed you are tending to your garden, decorating your home, choosing your outfit.

Kenma’s never been good with people, has never been the one to initiate a friendship. He knows he should have made more of an effort to be friendly and welcoming to you as your new older brother. There’s a slight pang of regret in his chest when he sees how at ease you are while you’re unaware of his presence. His eyes are as sharp as ever and he locks in on the way your body slightly stiffens, fingers nervously fidgeting when you finally notice his figure in the doorway, words already stuttering an apology for using his game room without explicitly asking.

You look like a scared mouse about to flee from the claws of a cat. And it pisses him off.

He hasn’t made the best efforts to bridge the gap between you, but for you to fear him? That seems a tad unnecessary, and more than a tad insulting. It’s more than enough to make the sadistic streak in him want to give you something to be scared about.

But he’s never been impulsive and he just quietly sits beside you on the floor, reassuring you it’s fine to play, smirking when you sneak little side glances his way as you continue collecting fruits.

“Kozume, do you want to play-”

“Just call me Kenma.”

Entranced eyes watch as you grow flustered at his words, mouth silently testing the weight of his given name in your mouth. For once, Kenma could care less about playing video games when a shaky timid “Kenma” slips past your soft lips.

“Kenma, do you want to play something together?”

You have no idea how badly he really does want to play together, but it’s a game you’re not ready for. So he calls upon any restraint he has to pluck your device from your hands and change the game to Mario Kart.

It’s amusing how easily you soften besides him, brow furrowing in concentration, eyes intently and eagerly following the screen, any anxiousness quickly forgotten as you get into the game. He greedily watches as you pout when you make a mistake, as your eyes light up every time you pass someone.

If he had known how easy it would be to make you warm up to him, he’d have done this sooner and he genuinely laughs when you whine and fake glare at him as he wins yet another round.

He asks about school. You ask about work. He tells you about his childhood. You share your own stories.

It’s a comfortable rhythmic back and forth and he’s afraid of ruining it, but a certain question nags at his mind, a question he knows may ruin the entire flow of the conversation.

“You’ll be graduating soon. Have you decided what you want to do after college?”

“Kenma not you too!!!”

His shoulders relax at how well you react to the question, smiling at the way you flop onto your back and groan about how mom and dad are already on your case about future plans.

“I’ve been applying to places, but who knows. Maybe I’ll just work for you at Bouncing Ball.”

There’s a playful lilt in your voice when you say it, a giggle and teasing smile accompanying the words. But there’s nothing funny about it to Kenma and your smile falters a bit when you see how tightly Kenma’s gripping his controller, the way his eyes pin you down.

“Kenma? It’s just a joke. I would never take advantage of-”

You try to get up from your reclined position, only to whimper in confusion when Kenma’s hand on your shoulder forces you back down. And suddenly you’re pinned down by more than just his stare as he moves to straddle you, knees on either side of your body, hands next to your head, his whole body caging yours.

It’s a lighthearted joke in the family that if all else fails, you could always work at Bouncing Ball. A joke your step-father and mother always dish out when the arguments get too tense as the three of you talk about your future. But it’s become less in jest for Kenma, especially after Kuroo sent him a scandalous picture of his newest secretary kneeling between his long legs, lips wrapped around his cock.

It wasn’t the first picture, nor was it the last incriminating photo the older businessman had sent him. Kenma merely rolled his eyes before deleting the image from his phone, wondering when Kuroo would grow bored and find a new toy to play with. But he freezes when he sees the following text message from his long-time friend.

“You’re the CEO of a company, Kenma. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone convenient around? A pretty warm body? I bet that cute new step sister of yours would look really good under your desk. Doesn’t she graduate from college soon? If you don’t make a move, maybe I’ll snatch her up right from under your nose. I’m due for a change of secretary soon.”

There’s absolutely no reason for the hot anger that lances through him at Kuroo’s taunting words and he grimaces at playing right into his ex-captain’s hands, already hearing Kuroo’s braying laughter in his head if the older man saw just how much his words affected him.

But initial irritation aside, he lets himself really think, really imagine what a life with you at his beck and call would be like. And he likes what he sees. He doesn’t delete Kuroo’s photos as quickly as he used to, replacing the female faces with yours in his imagination as his hands slip under the hem of his boxers.

He knows it’s a longshot, knows there’s a high chance you’ll continue your lives as is, never destined to exchange more than a few polite greetings at family outings. But now...now hearing you voice the idea out loud yourself, hearing the way his first name sounds from your lips…

Maybe it’s not the silly pipe dream he had believed it to be.

“I’m in need of an assistant if you really do want to work at Bouncing Ball, but you’d need to prove why it would be worth hiring you.”

He almost laughs at how you perk up despite the precarious position you’re in, almost ready to launch into an elevator pitch of your qualifications flat on your back underneath him. You’re quite the multitasker already and he groans at the thought of having you cockwarm him while he tests out a new video game, making you answer all his calls stuffed full of him and desperately trying to hide the lustful tremble in your voice.

But he’s not here to listen to your carefully crafted speech. (Guess you really were practicing for job interviews like you said you were. What a good girl.) And he firmly presses his lips against yours to silence you, taking his time to immerse himself in the way your mouths mold against each other.

Your taste, your smell, your warmth. It’s all intoxicating and he slips his tongue inside your parted lips, subtly rutting his groin against your body. He can feel your body jostle as you lift your arms and he waits for the weight of your arms to lovingly wrap around his neck, only to be shocked when you weakly press against his shoulders until he finally relents and pulls back just enough to look down at you in irritated confusion.

“We- we shouldn’t be doing this.”

It’s not the words that have him clenching his fists, not even the way your palms still timidly press against him in a laughably weak show of defense.

It’s the fear in your eyes, the way you look at him like he’s some monster. It's the way he can almost palpably feel and hear your desire to be anywhere other than here, with anyone other than him, wishing to put as much space between the two of you as possible.

It’s your rejection.

It hurts to know that he isn’t enough just as he is, that he needs to resort to less...savory and straightforward ways to entrap you. But he’s not Hinata or Kuroo. He doesn’t have an electrifying personality or roguishly handsome features and charm to woo you. He only has his cunning and sharp tongue.

And he fully intends on maximizing his gifts.

“Of course, you don’t have to. You can just keep on applying and getting rejected by every company you speak to, if they even bother meeting with you after seeing your pathetic resume. Average college. Average grades. Average major. Tell me, how many interviews have you actually been reached out to for?”

He’s going out on a bit of a limb, but his suspicions are right and he cruelly smirks at the way tears bubble in your eyes at his words, no comeback or denial rolling off the tip of your tongue. He had a feeling you were struggling from the bits and pieces he’s picked up as your parents quietly talk and fret over you actually being able to find a job after graduation.

“Our parents are too nice to say anything about it, but you know they’re disappointed in you, right? Have you noticed how they always avoid talking about how school is going or asking you about how job hunting is going? How they only ask me how work is going? It’s because they know you’re just a loser whose life is going to amount to nothing.”

“That’s not true! They love me-”

“I’m not saying they don’t love you, but doesn’t that make it even worse? Making your loving and caring parents worry and stress over you when they should be preparing for retirement, an easy life? Instead of letting them finally enjoy a carefree life, you’ll be their freeloader daughter who uses up all their remaining funds. Is that what you want?”

You really are too easy and his lips curl in satisfaction at the way you frantically shake your head side to side, fat wet drops streaming down your face, adorable sniffles filling the air.

“If you become my assistant, I’ll compensate you well. You can live here with me, have your own room, a roof over your head, all the food and clothing you need and want. Think about how relieved and happy our parents will be seeing you provided for, seeing us getting along. Isn’t that what you want? For them to be happy?”

He knows how close you are to your mom, how important this idea of a perfect family is to you. He knows how insecurity and doubt about your own capabilities torment you. And he knows you’re hooked on his claws when your hands that are still pressed against his shoulders drop limply besides you, not even a hint of resistance left in you when he leans down once more to rest his forehead on yours, one hand cupping the side of your face.

“This is all you’re good for anyway. Working underneath me.”

If you notice his pun, you don’t acknowledge it, too busy wincing and squirming as he harshly nips and bites a trail from your lips to your neck as he pushes up the hem of your shirt until your chest is on full display for him. There’s something experimental, cold, meticulous about the way he gropes and fondles your breasts.Your face heats in humiliation at how he treats you like one of the many game consoles he’s reviewed for his audience.

But you don’t do anything about it, telling yourself that this is just his version of an interview as he pinches and prods at you, meanly twisting your nipples and chuckling at your yelp of pain. You obediently let him spread your legs apart, only letting out an agonized cry as he tests your flexibility, staring at him with a trembling lower lip as he sharply tells you to shut up while scrutinizing your panty-covered sex.

“You really are made for this, aren’t you?”

You whimper as he nudges the small wet spot on the thin fabric, clenching your eyes shut in denial at how hot and wound up your body feels from his touch, unable to hide your gasp as he pulls the layer aside and rubs your aroused clit.

There’s something so different about the way his fingers slowly sink into your wet pussy, almost lazily curling against your soft walls, his thumb never stopping its careful massage on the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. So different from your own fingers desperately thrusting in and out of you. So different from the drunk partners you’ve hooked up with at college and their sloppy, rapid, frantic movements.

You can feel something large, something intimidating slowly rising from deep inside of you, a volcano about to erupt compared to the bright and fast to fade shooting stars you’re used to. You’re scared. Scared of the intoxicating feeling, of how easy it is to grow accustomed to Kenma’s presence, of how his cat-like eyes are all you can see and think of.

How can something feel so wrong and so right at the same time?

That’s the last coherent thought you have before your world goes blank, pleasure rocking through you as you soak the carpet and your step-brother’s hand with your juices. You’re moaning as Kenma continues to rock his fingers in and out of you, fingertips insistently massaging your clit and g-spot as you ride out your orgasm, body trembling and convulsing.

But even when the tremors slow, when pleasure becomes something sharper, more overwhelming, he doesn’t stop. You wail, begging him to stop, to let you rest, slumping in relief when he finally drags his hands away from you, carelessly wiping the mess you’ve made of his hand on your skin, covering you in your own essence.

Your heavy eyelids threaten to flutter shut as you let exhaustion wash over you, already dreading having to get up and wash yourself. But you’re shocked back to reality as something hard begins to nudge at your still fluttering entrance.

“Kenma! No! Too much-”

You break off into a sob as surprisingly strong hands dig into your hips, holding you still as he pushes and pushes until he’s fully settled inside of you, balls resting against your ass.

You’re still so tight, your quivering walls clamping around the intrusion, and he groans at the thought of being able to sink into this hole every day, multiple times, whenever he wants. His cock is already aching from holding off for so long, from watching your body and face contorted in pleasure. Kenma can feel his end quickly approaching as you scream and wail underneath him, eyes rolling back in your head, drool trickling from the corner of your mouth. You look absolutely obscene and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this side of you.

But despite the way his balls are tightening, despite the stutter in his hips, he’s determined to watch you fall apart once more, to see you shatter to pieces yet again. He grits his teeth, fingers reaching down to furiously rub at your already oversensitized clit, reveling in how your back arches, thighs shaking in overstimulation, and then you snap.

He wonders what his parents would think of their dear dumb daughter now, looking nothing like their silly angel, looking like a wanton used whore, incoherent garbled noises slipping past your lips as you twitch uncontrollably, your pussy milking him dry as he cums inside of you.

There’s only silence mixed with your pitiful whimpers as he slides out of you, grimacing at the sticky mess you’ve made of yourself and him. But that’s what your other hole is for and he orders you to suck him clean, admiring what a quick learner you are, eager to please as you noisily slurp and lick him clean, moaning at the taste of your combined fluids...

Maybe too eager and he shoves you off of him when you become too enthusiastic, his cock beginning to twitch in interest once more.

You look so lost, still sprawled out on the ground, staring up at him with wide imploring eyes as he pulls up his pants. So vulnerable and in need of guidance.

Good thing you have such a great boss to manage you.

“Not bad. Consider these next few days your internship and if all goes well, I’ll be more than happy to hire you as Bouncing Ball’s newest employee this summer. Now clean up this room and show me that my future assistant can do more than just be a slut.”

[tortilla-of-courage]

The Hylian written languages are a mess, man. But it’s nice seeing how they vary and how that’d affect how the Links communicate. I thought it’d be fun to share this since apparently written Hylian isn’t like, common knowledge in the fandom. Might be useful for art or the alike maybe? not sure

(really long post so. under a read more it goes! TL;DR of what’s in here: talking about and showing the written Hylian in almost all Zelda games, similarities between some, brief appearances in other games, and what writing system each Link would use according to all of this (basing it on the LU AU’s Links, but it could apply to any other Zelda AU out there), plus me trying to Connect The Dots™)

Written Hylian jumps from English-based to Japanese-based then back and forth, so in theory they could also sound completely different between each other, but that’s another issue. 

Anyways, here’s a totally-not-messy timeline of the games with their respective written languages (note: when i say english or japanese, i mean english/japanese-based Hylian, except in Link’s Awakening where it’s literally just those languages)

for convenience i’m gonna show and kind of explain each Hylian here really quick

First off, “English 1″, or the Skyward Sword Ancient Hylian alphabet

The first one chronologically. The start of a language-evolution nightmare. Anything you find in SS with this can be translated to English simply by replacing them with the latin alphabet.

Then we have “Japanese 1″, or the most common Hylian syllabary (syllable-based language) across the games

For some reason, Hyrule decided to switch to a syllable-based writing system all of a sudden and everyone said ok. With this one you can translate anything in Minish Cap, Four Swords/Four Swords Adventures, Wind Waker, Phantom Hourglass and Spirit Tracks to japanese. It can be a bit difficult because of a lack of distinctions japanese has (double consonants and half-sized syllables for example) but it can be done.

(As a fun note, this one can be found in Ocarina of Time 3D in the carpet of the Temple of Time, and in Square Signs! And also in Twilight Princess, in some of Kakariko’s Gravestones)

Then we have “Japanese 2″, in Ocarina of Time and Majora’s Mask.

Alright still syllable-based. That’s cool. Though this one’s way more square-ish than the last one, and it’s missing some syllables, so it complicates translations. The missing syllables are the ones with the variation marks “Japanese 1″ had. So, for example, in this syllabary, “ha/ba/pa” are the same symbol.

Going by the Fallen Timeline first, in A Link to the Past we’re shown a variant of Hylian that is referred to as “Mudoran”... which is gibberish, basically.

As far as I know, there’s no visible Hylian or other in the Oracles games, but we can assume they’d speak/write whatever language Labrynna and Holodrum have.

Link’s Awakening seems to just... have English and Japanese. At the same time.

In A Link Between Worlds and Tri Force Heroes, we’re introduced to a new alphabet, “English 2″, which is also used in Breath of the Wild and Age of Calamity, often called “Modern Hylian”.

It’s really similar to Skyward Sword’s Hylian, to the point of sharing many of its characters... except they’re all mixed up and/or slightly modified. 

Here’s a messy comparison between the two for funsies. You can technically crossread between the two but it won’t make sense for the most part. The only word i’ve found that’s the same in both is “NO”

In Zelda I and II there’s no written language to be seen like, anywhere because of the game’s limitations. While we’re at it, Hyrule Warriors doesn’t show any distinct Hylian either.

So! Child timeline! Termina uses the same “Japanese 2″ syllabary as OoT. That one’s easy.

Twilight Princess introduces a new alphabet, “English 3″, that’s the most similar to the latin alphabet out of the others.

TP’s many signs with this alphabet though seem to use it with English, Japanese, and/or gibberish. It really depends on where it’s being used. Most one or two word signs base it off english.

Also, this alphabet can be found in... Skyward Sword! Yeah, all the way back there. You can find it in the Sealed Temple and the Sky Keep (though it’s gibberish), as well as on one of the game’s covers:

Then Four Swords Adventures, and all the games in the adult timeline (Wind Waker, Phantom Hourglass, and Spirit Tracks) use “Japanese 1″.

So. What does this mean for the Links, you might ask? After that stupidly long exposition text wall, I can finally go to that.

i’m basing these on the Linked Universe AU’s Links, but the info above could be used for the Links in any other Zelda AUs. For people unfamiliar with the AU, “Hyrule” here is the Zelda I/II Link, and “Warriors” is the Hyrule Warriors Link. “Legend” covers all the other games in the Fallen Hero Timeline, and “Four” is the Four Swords and Minish Cap’s Links. The rest I think are more obvious.

Sky uses “English 1″. He could, in theory, see Twilight’s Hylian and have the vaguest feeling of knowing it, but since it was on the doors of the Sealed Temple i’m not sure.

Four and Wind use “Japanese 1″.

Time uses “Japanese 2″. Like Sky, he could potentially see Four and Wind’s Hylian and think he’s seen it before, but since it was just on the carpet I don’t think he’d have paid much attention to it.

Legend and Wild use “English 2″.

Also besides “English 2″, Legend also knows Mudoran, English, Japanese, and Labrynna’s and Holodrum’s languages. Multilingual king.

Twilight uses “English 3″, and if he ever paid attention to the gravestones in Kakariko Village, might recognize Four and Wind’s Hylian too.

Warriors could use any of these tbh, considering the mess his game is.

I have no idea what Hyrule could use either. Probably English 2 like Legend? Something else entirely?

Sky, Legend and Wild look at each other’s writing like “oh that looks familiar :)” but when they try to read it it makes absolutely No Sense.

I’m pretty sure I had more points to this when I started this post but I seem to have forgotten about them and i’ve already spent maybe 6 hours on this.

Conclusion: Written communication isn’t really a viable option for the Links unless they teach each other their respective writing systems. Chaos ensues.

Bonus! Both “Link” and their nicknames in each of their writing systems (using “English 2″ for Wars and Hyrule as placeholders)

[miraculouscontent]

Hello just wondering what your opinion is on Gabriel.

As when I watch the show it seems like they don't know what to do with him: As Hawkmoth he is either a comic relief villain twirling his mustache, a highly competent master planner who has lines he wont cross, a Reluctant villain who is a broken man without his wife or a criminal mastermind who is willing to murder to get his way.

And as Gabriel the writing has him switching between loving his son, being awkward with his son or just seeing his son as a pawn.

Do you think this is because they had no plan for Gabriel or is this just a another example of the writers not talking to each other?

Have a nice day.

I think it’s a mixture of everything. One thing I’ve noticed is that the show seems to want to do “fake surprises,” but they don’t know how red herrings actually work.

Basically, they want us to not know where they’re going, so they’ll throw in whatever is convenient to get the plot moving the way they want (whether that’s akumatizing Chat or not akumatizing Adrien). They feel like they’re playing mind games by having Gabriel flip flop back-and-forth so we don’t know where they’re going with it, when in reality it’s just inconsistent writing.

I feel like media as a whole has had this idea that “nuance” is good, which isn’t wrong but they don’t know how to do it. That’s why we see a lot of villain redemptions even if the villains are irredeemable scumbags who wanted everyone to die one episode ago. They think that emotional whiplash between the villain acting awful versus acting “sympathetic” is compelling.

It’s not.

My opinion on Gabriel is that he’s a lot of things at once, but not in a way that makes him a complex/tragic character, because every decision they make isn’t crafted with his character in mind, it’s crafted with the plot in mind.

To reference what I said before, let’s take the akumatization example and add in “Kuro Neko.”

Why did Shadow Moth hit Chat Noir around when he’s not physically abusive towards Adrien? To drive Chat to an akumatization and make the audience sympathetic towards Chat in order to distract them from Adrien lying by omission (that’s why you see it later on, so it leaves the last impression).

Why did Gabriel act sympathetic towards Adrien in “Glaciator 2″? Because if he’d akumatized Adrien, it’d all be over and Adrien would’ve handed over the cat miraculouses to him.

Why did Gabriel shift suddenly in “Kuro Neko” to where he doesn’t care about Adrien being sad at all? So that the audience could feel more inclined to be sympathetic towards Adrien.

Basically, Gabriel is a tool to be used, not a real character.

[novamirmirsblog]

Mission gone right

Hi guysss. This is 18+ ty :3

Word count: 1596

Genre: Smut, kinda dark? R is bad basically

Request: no

Warnings: Wanda sex magic, swearing, alcohol (think that's it)

A/N: we got votes for both angst and smut so I kinda combined both? I feel like this isn't angsty enough so imma write something super angsty next. Then I'll go back and do some more spidey duo xxx

"What to do, what to do, what to do..." You paced back and forth around your living room. "Ugh!" throwing your hands up in the air, you flopped down on the sofa, leaving your legs dangling over the arm. Switching on the TV, you saw that there was a new display at an art gallery. You looked around your walls and saw nothing as pretty as the painting on the TV.

"I guess one more couldn't hurt..."

The TV then changed to show that the Avengers were making a special appearance considering Tony Stark owned the gallery and it was it's opening night.

With newfound determination, you got dressed in a red dress with a neckline that dropped all the way to just above your navel and a slit that went all the way up to the middle of your left thigh. The dress gave you the freedom to move but still looked like it was just something pretty to wear. You grabbed your clutch (because god forbid a woman has pockets) and headed out.

~~~~~

Soft music played as people with more money than sense wandered around the gallery. Women wore pearls loosely and men had watches just begging to be taken. You had to focus. You were there for one reason and one reason only. The oil painting apparently cost millions. You didn't really care about that - it was a nice touch, sure - but not the reason you wanted it. You told yourself it was because it was a pretty picture but maybe it was more to do with the fact a pretty mindreader was going to be there tonight.

So far, you had done well to avoid the guards and cameras. You had stolen from this place a few times before and you knew that they rarely changed their security because you had cameras on them. You had seen a few of 'Earth's mightiest heroes' and had tried to ignore the disappointment you felt when it wasn't Wanda.

It's not like the two of you had history, but you were at HYDRA when the twins were too. You were a failed experiment. Your powers were useful, but not useful enough. They also took a little time to form. Time that Strucker didn't want to waste. You, Wanda and Pietro spent about a year together before they went to the 'good side' and you delved deeper into what your powers could do for you. You'd think that HYDRA would love the fact you could convince people of anything and erase all traces that you had ever been somewhere, but apparently they weren't looking for spies, they had enough of those.

You strolled around until you made it to the bathroom, waiting there for the rest of the evening. You had everything planned, walk up to the picture, take it from it's frame and leave out the front door. Everything was going according to plan until you heard footsteps behind you.

"Hey! What are you doing there!" You opened your mouth to speak but you were grabbed and dragged round the corner and into a storage room.

It was Wanda.

"What the hell are you doing here!" Wanda whisper shouted as guards jogged past our hiding place.

"Same as you apparently." You realised Wanda hadn't noticed how close the two of you were, cupoards were very small...

"You just fucked up my night out."

"Sorry darling, at least my night is going splendidly." You winked and leaned in closer, watching as the anger transformed to lust on her face.

You were taller than Wanda by maybe half a head so she had to look up at you as she tried to formulate a reason to get out of there. Technically, she didn't even have to be there. She could walk out right now and the guards wouldn't even bat an eye and yet something was making her stay.

You moved slightly and Wanda groaned ever so faintly. It was so quiet that you would have missed it if you hadn't been so close to her. You then realised that your leg was conveniently placed between Wanda's, and what can you say? The storage cupboard was small. It wasn't your fault.

Okay, it was maybe a little bit your fault.

"Oh darling, has no one been taking care of you?" You mocked, leaning in and whispering over the shell of her ear "Want me to take care of that?"

Wanda froze even more. Her mind was racing so fast that there was no possible way for her to read yours even though she was desperate to do so. She hadn't seen you in forever but when she glanced over when Tony was telling her a particularly boring story, she couldn't help but gasp at how beautiful you were. Wanda had hoped that you were just there to admire the art work but she knew, deep down, that that would be too good to be true.

"Cat got your tongue?" You were unaware of the turmoil you caused for Wanda. Too focused on your own fun and the way her suit hugged her in all the right places. You wanted nothing more than to fuck her there and then. You didn't want a meaningful relationship with Wanda, just something physical. The two of you were occasional fuck buddies when you were both at HYDRA - the relationship turning slightly toxic very quickly.

You both liked to see how quickly one could get the other jealous. Whether that meant flirting with other people and making sure the other one saw, or just outright sleeping with whoever was nearest. While it seemed that Wanda had grown out of that toxicity, finding love with a glorified Alexa, you never had.

"Why save me darling? I can handle myself."

"You were two seconds from being caught" It was a little disheartening to hear her accent slipping, the last little piece that reminded you of the Wanda she used to be.

"No. No I wasn't." you lifted her chin up and spoke into her neck "I don't need you to save me."

Wanda let out another groan, much louder this time as her hips bucked on your thigh.

"Shhh" You chuckled lowly "We don't want anyone to hear you, right?"

You grabbed her hips and kissed her. It was rough and fast. Wanda whimpered and began grinding harder, trying to get more friction. One hand traced lightly on Wanda's thigh and the other tugged at her waistband. Wanda got rid of them instantly with her magic and you slipped your hand into her panties.

"Shit sweetheart, your toaster not giving you the satisfaction you need?"

"I don't want to think about him" Wanda let out with a slight growl, her accent getting heavier again, like how it was when you knew her.

"Sweetheart when I'm done with you, you wont think of anything else for months."

"God you're a cocky bitch. You're all talk and no action."

"No?" You pushed two fingers into her. You weren't feeling nice enough to start off slow and she was wet enough for it anyway.

Wanda's back arched as she let out a moan and you kissed her chest, her blazer falling open to reveal an extremely unbuttoned shirt. She tried to push your hand further, desperately chasing her release but you pulled away, taking your hand and licking your fingers, watching as Wanda gulped.

"Please..."

"But darling, I think the guards are gone." You smirked as the witch basically threw a temper tantrum.

"So? I haven't felt this good in so long" Wanda shoved her own hand back to where yours was. It was strangely extremely hot to see her try and get back to her high. She suddenly opened her eyes and looked at you. You could see the red wisps surrounding you before you nearly doubled over, looking up at Wanda who wore an evil smile.

"Now you know how I feel. Are you going to get back to it?" Wanda had never done this before. When you had known her, she had little to no control over her powers, only being able to control things with her mind and read others thoughts. She had been practicing.

"Fuck you."

"Well yes, that's what I'm trying to get you to do."

You dropped to your knees and took the rest of her underwear off, slowly licking her as she swung a leg over your shoulder. "Shit y/n, just like that."

You worked your fingers in and out of her, feeling everything you were doing to her on yourself thanks to her magic. You got slightly sloppy as you both neared your climaxes. You suck and bit along her thigh and on her clit until you felt her clench around your fingers. You both saw stars as her magic continued to fuck you, drawing out your orgasms until you were both sweaty messes.

~~~~~

You never did get the painting that night. You didn't really get anything you wanted that night. You sat on the top of your building, one leg swinging and a bottle of something strong in your hand, just watching the city buzz at night. As you sat there watching the tiny people come home from their jobs to their loving families, you wondered if you could have had something like that with Wanda. Then you laughed as you remembered that she was probably wrapped up in the arms of Siri, taking another swig from the bottle, you got up and prepared for your next job.

[worldsover]

Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a  win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts. 

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧ 

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.

[harrysgloves]

Here Comes The Sun

word count: 3.3k

story summary: After dating for 2 years, Harry finally convinces you to move in with him. Only to find out the person he loves most in this world suffers from depression.

warnings: Language // Mentions of depression, anxiety, insomnia, and everything else that goes along with that fucking terrible disease. // Fluff because I really needed it.

a/n: 100% needed this pick me up short story right now. The depression is real. Always remember to reach out for help if the load of your own depression/ anxiety/ insomnia/ mental illness gets too heavy for you to carry on your own. We all need help some times.

>>><<<

Things in your life had been going so well. Everything seemed to be fitting together so nicely like it was meant to be this way. That, honestly, should have been your first sign that a storm was just around the corner.

You'd finally agreed to move in with your boyfriend of two years after months of him begging and pleading with you.

"Come on, love. It'll save money." He said trying to be all sneaky, saying that was the only reason why he wanted you to move it.

"It jus' makes sense. Y'know ecologically. Less travelin' back and forth. Really, do it fo' the trees, love." He tried another time.

"Harry, if you care about saving trees buy a Kindle." You said as you laid down your own eReader to gestured to the book laying on his chest.

"Y'know how I feel 'bout those… things." He said with a wave of his hand before picking up his apparently superior "real" book. The sour look on his face made the side of your lip curl upwards letting out a hum as you picked up your tablet again.

"Well, when you get a tablet we'll talk about it." You said, smiling as you picked up where you left off in your book. Thinking you'd won the fight, there was no way he'd ever give up his love for turning pages for a digital reader.

You were very, very, wrong.

The next week you two hung out at his flat, cuddled up on the couch as usual. Your head laying in his lap as you tuned out whatever nonsense was on tv and scrolled mindlessly through news articles on your phone.

You only looked up when Harry moved his hand off your arm. Your eyes peered up at the smug bastard casually pulling out his new Kindle. The color draining from your face as he sat there with that infuriating cheeky grin.

"Anything we need to talk about, sweetheart?" He asked, eyes still on the screen of his tablet, that dimple popping out as he grinned.

"Oh, don't you sweetheart me!" You sat up abruptly beside him. The smile never leaving his face as he laid down his tablet on the coffee table.

"Why not, lovie? Something wrong?" He cooed, moving closer to you on the couch as you rolled your eyes at him.

"When did you get that?" You asked, gesturing to the piece of technology you swore he'd never EVER own.

"Two hours after y'left last week." His arms wrapped around you pulling you into his chest as you stared at him.

The cheeky jerk always tried to get what he wanted.

"H." You said, shaking your head at him.

"Jus' move in with me! Promise I'll pick up my socks and everythin'." He pouted his head laying on your shoulder until you pulled back slightly from him.

"Okay, I know that's a lie." You rolled your eyes, laying your head on his chest.

It wasn't that you didn't want to move in with him. You really did. You loved the guy. Even if he told the world's worst jokes and he hated your intense love of bad, corny, movies.

You considered him not just your boyfriend but one of your best friends. Not your absolute best friend because that bitch would murder Harry if he ever took her spot but he was close.

The only problem?

You'd managed to hide the fact you were diagnosed with depression for years. Any time any of your bouts of sadness seemed to hit he was conveniently out of town. By the time he came back they were close enough to being over that you could push through it. Pretend to be happy.

That's what you did best. Almost all the people in your life had no idea you struggled with a mental illness. That you had depression that fueled your anxiety which made your insomnia unbearable… which only made the depression worse.

It was a constant vicious cycle of depression, anxiety, and insomnia that you didn't want him to see. You liked being the person who made everyone laugh and have a great time.

You liked being the life of the party. Liked having fun and being adventurous but something in you would flip like a switch and suddenly you wouldn't be the same person anymore.

You'd spend days in bed, hardly moving, finding reasons to do your office job that you loved at home. You didn't see many people, blowing off your friends with excuses of being busy with work when really you were curled up in a ball in your bed staring at your bedroom wall, overthinking everything.

"Come on, what's t'big deal? I love ya and obviously y'not waitin' fo' marriage or anythin'." He said, laughing when you hit the jerk in the shoulder with the closest couch pillow.

"'M sorry but it was funny." He said with that annoying but oh so adorable sparkle in his eyes as he leaned his head back on your shoulder, sticking out his bottom lip to pout at you.

"Please move in? Pleeease?" He begged, pleading up to you with those bright green eyes you couldn't say no to.

"Fine but if you stop loving me that's your own fault." You sighed, settling on the fact that you didn't want your depression to hold you back.

If he loved you he would understand.

"Never gonna happen, love." He said leaning over to give you a kiss. Lips intertwining together causing the thoughts of worry to drift slowly from your mind.

>>>

It was only the first week of you two being moved in together when you felt that overwhelming sense of gray starting to edge its way into your mind. It was simple things at first, oversleeping, not feeling hungry, and not feeling up to doing much.

You easily chopped it up to the stress of moving and the adjustment period of getting used to living with someone else other than yourself. Telling yourself that there was no way you could be getting down when you had so much to be happy about.

Your nights after work were filled with nothing but cuddles on your couch. Pressed against Harry's chest as he read you the book you'd both settled on. Your fingers combing through his hair as you listened to every word pouring out of his mouth. Smiling softly as you nuzzled into his neck.

No, there was no way you could feel depressed when you had this to look forward to every night after a long day.

But you were wrong.

>>>

"Sunflower! 'M home!" Harry called out for you when he got back from the studio. A box of donuts in his hands as he shut the door behind him with his foot.

He could tell that you'd been feeling a bit off lately. You'd been sleeping more than you usually did. Complaining about your stomach being sick when he tried to get you to eat. Which never happened because you loved food.

When he rolled out of bed that morning to head to the studio you told him you were doing your office work from home. He thought it was odd since you usually loved going into your office. You'd been there so long that you considered almost everyone your close friend. Of course, you also didn't meet many people who weren't your friend which was one of the reasons Harry loved you in the first place.

You were always so sweet and kind. Going out of your way for people was something you didn't even bat an eye at. Your heart was made of pure gold and he loved seeing your smile light up a room anytime he took you out.

Lately though you'd been refusing to go with him to do things. Saying you had too much work to do. Something he tried to get you to stop doing to yourself. You had a bad habit of doing people's work for them when they gave you a half-assed reason why they couldn't do it.

He couldn't stand to see you work yourself to the point of stressing yourself out. Which is what he figured you were going through right now.

"Love?" He called for you again when you didn't respond. Throwing his keys and bag on the table haphazardly like he knew you hated but was slowly trying to break the habit of doing every day.

His eyebrows furrowed as he toed off his shoes. You usually came bolting down the hallway the second you heard his keys hit the kitchen table, telling him off for not putting them in the key bowl sitting by the front door. Something he didn't quite understand since you two usually ate in the living room and didn't even use the kitchen table unless people were over.

He walked through the quiet and dark house straight to the study. The door to the room jammed packed with his books creaked open revealing no one in there. Not even your laptop was in the room and nothing was out of place. It didn't even look like you'd been in there that day.

He closed the door behind him as he headed for the bedroom. He wasn't sure why you'd been in there since you said you had so much work to do and you were very adamant on no work being done in the bedroom. Saying it was only a place for sleep and sex.

When he finally got to your two's bedroom though he was surprised to find you curled up in a ball, buried under the thick comforter, asleep. Your hands gripping on the blankets as you huddled for warmth. Your easy breathing rising your chest gently up and down as you snoozed away peacefully.

A small smile formed on Harry's lips as he watched you for a second. This was exactly why he wanted you to move in, he loved seeing you already there when he got home. Even if you were asleep.

He placed the box of donuts on the bedside table before crawling into bed with you. The decompression of the mattress caused your eyes to flicker open as he laid behind you. His arm draped over your side as he pulled you closer to him.

"Mornin', love." He kissed your temple as you groaned in protest, not wanting to wake up since day time seemed to be the only time you could sleep anymore.

"Five more minutes." You mumbled, glaring at Harry when you heard him let out a small laugh.

"It's six in the evenin'. Y'won't sleep tonight if y'don't get up, baby." He said while his hand rubbed gently up and down your arm. The calluses on his fingertips scratched you slightly as you pulled away from him burying your face in the pillow.

"I'm sleepy." You complained, the pillow in your face muffling your voice.

"Y'never this sleepy." He said, pulling back from you slightly, brows furrowed in concern.

"I know. Just don't feel good." You shrugged as you rolled off the pillow to face him. You really should have told him then but the thought of him seeing you in a different light was terrifying. Logically, you knew he wouldn't judge you but the thought still loomed in your mind.

"Y'fevered?" He asked, touching your forehead with the back of his hand.

"No, nothing like that. Just tired." You sighed, wishing you weren't so much of a coward. Your teeth biting your bottom lip as your eyes darted away from his stare.

"Brought y'donuts. Those are always y'favorite." He said, hoping that would get you out of bed.

"Not hungry H. Wanna go back to sleep." You said, turning away from him again. You were so tired, your nights filled with nothing but restlessness and racing thoughts that somehow only subsided during the day.

"Y'stomach sick?" He asked, as he laid back down beside you. He wasn't sure what was going on with you but he could tell something was definitely wrong.

"Kind of." You said, Harry's mind racing with all the possibilities of what was going on with you.

Did anyone you know have the stomach flu? He didn't think so or at least you hadn't mentioned anything about it. Maybe it was the real flu he though but it wasn't the season for the flu and you'd be burning up if you had that. It could have been a common cold but you weren't sneezing or coughing.

His mind slowly started to piece things together for him. His eyes widening in realization before a small smile curled on his lips. He hugged you before pressing a kiss on your forehead.

You'd definitely needed all the sleep you could get if he was right.

"Alright, get some rest, darlin'. I'll come to get y'later." He smiled, turning to look at you with a weird glint in his eyes. "Love you."

"Love you too." You said, not sure what the hell had just happened but was glad he decided to leave you to your much-needed nap.

>>>

"I'll carry that." Harry said as he ripped the box from your hands. It had been the third time that day that he took boxes out of your hands that he deemed too heavy for you to carry out of your car from your storage building.

"H, why are you being so weird?" You sighed, rubbing your forehead, he'd been like this for weeks. His constant hovering was starting to become unbearably draining.

"'M not, don't want y'carryin' heavy stuff, that's all." He shrugged as he carried your box of photos to the attic as you plopped down on the couch.

It wasn't like he was going to let you unload your car yourself. He was already worked up about you clearing out your storage building yourself but it wasn't like you could keep things in there anymore. The rent had recently raised and really it was ridiculous for you to pay for a storage building when yours and Harry's place had an attic for storage.

"You should eat." Harry said sometime later in the evening when he had finished unloading your car for you.

"Not hungry." You replied, sitting up from the couch to stretch, your back cracking from how long you'd been sitting there not moving.

"Flower, please eat." He begged, his voice pleading with you as he sat down on the couch next to you.

"Harry, why is it a big deal?" You asked, turning to face him but you could tell he had suddenly gotten uncomfortable. You sighed, hands covering your face as you rubbed your eyes.

"You've been hovering over me for the past two weeks. What's going on with you?" You finally asked, hoping whatever it was could end quickly. You didn't have the energy to deal with everyday stuff let alone anything else.

"It's jus' y'know…" he mumbled, ears tinting pink as his eyes darted away from you. His hands fiddling with his rings as you raised an eyebrow at him.

"I don't know. Can you please tell me and start acting normal again?"

"'Ave you had your period this month?" He asked quickly, completely catching you off guard.

"What?" You had no idea what the hell that had to do with anything or why the heck he'd be worried about it.

"Y'know, y'period, 'ave y'had it?" He asked again, your forehead crinkling as you thought about it.

You hadn't had it yet but it was only one day late, which is completely normal for you when your stressed out from depression and not sleeping much. Your body liked to freak out on you when your emotional state wasn't the best.

"No?"

"And y'not eatin' and sick to y'stomach. Right?" He still looked anxious as he continued to question you. While you grew more and more confused by the second.

"Uhm, yes?"

At this point, you felt whatever his train of thought had been at the start of this conversation had completely gone off the rails. He wasn't making any sense whatsoever to you anymore. He might as well start speaking to you in a different language if he wanted to be this confusing.

"And y'tired and sleepin' all the time."

"Okay, what does that have to do with you acting funny?" You asked when you had finally had enough of his crazy questions.

"Y'pregnant." He said with a bright smile on his face that quickly faltered the second you busted out laughing at him. Your hand quickly covering your mouth when you realized he was now the confused one.

"Harry. I'm not pregnant." You said once you had finally calmed down enough to talk to him again.

"Y'are! That's why y'been so different lately." He said so passionately you almost felt bad for not being pregnant. The poor guy looked like you'd kicked his dog.

"H, I have depression." You said, finally telling him the truth about why you'd been acting so different.

His eyes flickered around your face then towards your stomach. The wheels in his mind turning as he realized all the signs he had misread.

"Why didn't y'tell me?" He asked quietly. The look on his face filling you with guilt.

"'Cause I don't like talking about it." You said, wanting to leave it there but you knew you owed him more of an explanation than that. Sighing as you reached out to hold his hand, your fingers absent-mindedly running across his rings as you tried to build the courage to talk about it so more.

"I get all weird and down. I don't like being like that so I don't bring it up a lot." You said finally breaking the silence he was giving you to talk freely about what was going on.

"We've been together fo' two years." He said, his fingers lacing through yours to stop your fidgeting.

"Yes, Harry, I'm very aware of how long we've been together." You rolled your eyes at him, a smile on your face until you saw the hurt look on his own.

"Why haven't I seen it before?" He asked, staring away from you and at the living room floor. Your heart sinking as you realized he was starting to blame himself for not seeing the signs.

"They always seemed to hit when you were out of town and before, when I wasn't living with you, it was easy to not show it. Like, I could be okay for a few hours when we hung out and I could go back home and it wasn't a big deal." You explained, pulling his attention back on you as you tried to casually brush off the fact you'd go through hard periods of time completely alone.

"'S a big deal. I wanna be there fo' yeh." He said tongue wetting his lips as you pouted at him. Your head resting on his shoulder, trying your best to be honest.

"That's why I'm telling you now. Sorry, it took me so long to say it. I didn't want you to look at me differently." You sighed, his hand tightening slightly, enough to make you raise your head up to look at him.

"I wouldn't ever look at y'differently, sunflower. I love you." He said, a smile on your face as you leaned forward and kissed him.

Even though you knew deep down that he'd always accept you and not judge you for your depression. Hearing him say the words made everything better.

"I love you too, H." You said when you pulled away from him. Your eyes were unable to stop watering as you looked at him.

"Don't cry, puppy." He said as his thumb brushed away your tears.

"Happy tears." You said through a laugh as you tried to wipe your open face dry of the water. A weight felt lifted off your shoulders knowing he'd always be there for you. Knowing you wouldn't have to carry the burden of depression alone anymore.

[illneverrecover]

the sweetest thing (M) | myg

➛pairing: Min Yoongi x reader ➛genre: florist!Yoongi, baker!Reader, florist AU, baker AU, enemies to lovers, humor, smut. ➛word count: 4799 ➛rating: M ➛warnings: not too many, this is pretty sweet & soft. Heavy petting, cursing, making out, neck kissing, biting/marking, icing used in a dirty manner, implied sex, mild dirty talk, bad puns, witty banter. ➛summary: Min Yoongi was sure you moved in next door to his floral shop just to ruin him and his business. But when he needs your help, he realizes that it’s much sweeter working together then apart. ➛notes: Hehehe. My sweet little angel bb Paril requested some florist shop Yoongi E2L with baker reader, and I just had to oblige. I love writing Yoongi, he truly just is perfect for me to channel sass and sarcasm and a bit of sweetness. Thank you for commissioning me @serensama​ (and the kind bank of @quinnkook​), I hope you enjoy this and that it’s what you were looking for! I love you tons and I’m proud to be your soulmate. 🖤 ➛song: People - AGUST D for the sweet fluff  & Poison - GOT7  for the dirty dirty.

“She’s doing this on purpose.”

“No she isn’t, hyung. That doesn’t make sense.” Namjoon picks up a rose, twirling it in inspection. “Does she even know you exist?”

Yoongi scoffs then, eyes darting from the arrangement in front of him to glare at Namjoon. “Of course she knows I exist. Our shops share a wall.”

Instead of replying, Namjoon rolls his eyes before refocusing, carefully watching the stem as his hand slides the knife down it to remove any thorns. Yoongi accepts his silence as defeat, puffing his chest. “So, like I was saying - she’s doing this on purpose, and she’s going to bleed me dry.”

The door swings open then, Hoseok and Jungkook both moving to the workstations with arms full of supplies, the latter’s eyes wide as he picks up on the conversation.

“Wait! Are you talking about Y/N noona?”

“Yes, and how she’s killing business-”

“Isn’t she just the coolest?!” Jungkook interrupts, beaming over at Yoongi. “Have you seen the designs for her flower cookies? And how she’s selling twelve of them in a pack and calling them ‘coo-quets’? Get it? Like instead of-”

“Bouquets, yes Jungkook, I get the pun.” Yoongi mutters dryly, setting the finished arrangement in it’s vase and sliding it to the side. Hoseok is laughing, so hard in fact that he misses Yoongi picking up a roll of tape until it beams him in the head.

“Hey! What was that for!” rubbing his crown, he glares at the florist before reluctantly picking up the tape, fixing the customer label to the side of the vase before moving it over to the fridge. “Don’t be violent with me just because you have the hots for the pretty baker next door.”

Yoongi sputters, hand slapping the top of the table. “I do not have the hots for-”

“Yeah yeah, we know, you definitely aren’t into Y/N, at all,” Namjoon deadpans, reaching into the box for his next rose to dethorn. “You don’t find her attractive, you didn’t stalk her and pretend to be a customer just so you could see inside her business, absolutely nothing to see here.”

“Your sarcasm is noted and also not appreciated,” Yoongi sniffs, before turning away from the taller man all together. “All I’m saying is, ever since she moved into that building, she’s caused issues. And now this is how she decides to promote for the Spring Blossom festival? It feels like an attack.”

“But hyung, it’s called the ‘Spring Blossom Festival’, I think leaning towards flowers would be kind of an obvious choice, right?” Jungkook prompts, head tilting in naive innocence. 

Yoongi sighs heavily, head dropping to his chest, and wonders not for the first time why he thought hiring his friends to work with him was a good idea. 

Maybe Jungkook had a point; maybe they all did. But that wasn’t enough to convince Yoongi that your motives were all sincere in nature. He was telling the truth when he said that ever since you had moved in next door, things had gone haywire for his small, locally loved floral shop. 

He had only been in the space for about a year, but the street it was on had picked up in popularity with a new pub and restaurant concept on the corner, and a local farmers market moving in on the weekends. Quickly, his little business grew, people coming to him when seeking unique arrangements that were both beautiful and affordable. As demand increased, so did the need to hire more hands, and his friends had been enthusiastic to join his payroll. 

For the most part, things had been smooth sailing.Training the others had been relatively easy, and what shortcomings they had, he was able to find a new strength they each brought to the business. He was comfortable, thriving, going to bed with a full belly and fat wallet, and it’s all he could ask for.

Until you.

Yoongi didn’t even see you until after you had already bought and renovated the building next door, the sign for your bakery going up and accenting the coral pink of the painted brick perfectly. He had thought it was cute; how bright and cheery your shop looked, how you were always dressed in flattering sundresses and heels, despite spending your days in a kitchen baking. He walked past your place daily to get to his own, and had found himself curious about what you were like, how good your food was, how successful you’d be.

He figured the aesthetic alone would bring in some customers, if not the increased foot traffic the farmers market brought in, and he wasn’t wrong. Your soft opening had gone well, a small line forming outside the building to Yoongi’s amusement. Word of mouth worked like a charm in your neighborhood, and a steady flow of regulars would greet him on his trek into work each morning at sunrise as they awaited their breakfast pastry and hot cup of coffee.

While this was great for you, it wasn’t so good for him. Your customers would always line up in the direction where they would block his window, meaning people walking by couldn’t get a glimpse at the creations he had displayed in the windows. Not to mention the littering - flurries of light brown napkins with your logo stamped in the middle usually lining the street in front of the shops, seemingly taunting him.

And then, the festival came. The Spring Blossom Festival, to be exact. 

It was clever, he’d admit that much. The word play of ‘cookie’ and ‘bouquet’, the different color options of the edible flowers painstakingly drawn onto perfectly baked sugar cookies. You had really put thought and effort into the design, and he wasn’t surprised that it seemed to be a hit, dominating the first several days of the festival.

But that didn’t mean he liked it.

He watched helplessly as his sales dipped, as customers that would’ve wanted the real thing instead switched it up for prettily decorated consumable flowers, all cooing and preening over the treats in their matching boxes.

Yoongi had to retaliate. What else was there for him to do?

After watching you hang neon pink flyers up around the street, he had made some as well, deciding he’d place them conveniently directly over your own. Matching the paper to yours had been Namjoon's suggestion, and Yoongi had thought it was genius. That seemed to bring in a few more customers, but the lull still remained, his till and bank account making it painfully apparent.

It had been Jungkook's idea to photo bomb some of your promotional pictures when he spotted you posing in front of the shop, pristine desserts in hand and a floral dress on to match. Yoongi had shook his head but ultimately agreed, handing him one of his best designed bouquets and nudging him towards your bakery. Trying to make it look natural, he strolled back and forth in the background, making sure the flowers in his hand were always towards the camera, that he looked as if he was enjoying the festival as a patron. After about the fifth pass through, the boxy lipped young man taking your pictures had scowled, shouting after him to get out of the way. You had laughed, invited Jungkook to talk with you, even posted one of the pictures with him in it on your Instagram like it hadn’t phased you at all.

Now, here he was with only two more days left of the festival - a time that he should be making double - and with nothing more to show for it. Pre-made and custom bouquets lined the shop windows, hoping to entice anyone passing by, but most remained untouched and without a home to go to.

He was desperate.

"Why don't you just go talk to her?" Hoseok interjects, an eyebrow raised. "Maybe you can explain what's happening, see if she'd be willing to help out or team up or something."

Scoffing loudly, Yoongi kicks at the ground. "Team up? You think I want to team up with her? This is a serious business I run here, you know."

Hoseok gives Namjoon a passing glance over the blonde's head, not that he notices, too stuck inside his thoughts. It's Jungkook's loud voice that breaks the silence once more.

"Y/N noona is really nice, you know. And her cookies are so yummy, I bet she would love to help us!"

"You've tried her cookies, Jungkook?!" Yoongi’s voice raises, incredulous. "This is a sudden yet inevitable betrayal, you know. It really be your own friends."

"Seriously, Yoongi. You think she's cute anyway. Might as well go over under the pretense of business and at least see if you can score her number." Namjoon deadpanned, dropping his knife and making sure to show him every ounce of pleading desperation on his face.

Yoongi ponders for a beat or two, pretending to mull it over all the while recognizing that it couldn't hurt anything to go chat with his new neighbor, introduce himself. Who knows, maybe there was a deal to be made?

You thought he was so cute, the grumpy little florist next door.

His mouth was perpetually in a pout, bottom lip upturned enough that it made him look like he was always inspecting, always exasperated. His eyes were sharp, but not in a judgmental way - more like in the way where you knew nothing went past his scrutinizing gaze, and they were offset by the soft white blonde of his hair, in the refined silver hoops that lined his ears. 

Your neighbor Yoongi was a walking contradiction, and you couldn’t help but to be charmed by him.

You had heard rumors about him, heard people's worries of you moving into the building next to his very popular floral shop, but you didn't pay them any mind. You had yet to meet someone that you couldn't make a friend, and if he was impervious to your charms, he definitely wouldn't be able to deny your best coworker, Taehyung, and his infectious personality.

But despite your attempts, you always seemed to miss him, unable to properly introduce yourself when he bustled by during the morning rush, or when you were cleaning up shop. It didn't stop you from observing, from watching the way he eyed your building, the way he'd upturn his lip at the line forming outside the door at daybreak.

He seemed so easily ruffled, so annoyed but in this endearing way, and you couldn't help but want to get to know him, to see if you could get him to open up.

Especially once he started his attempts at sabotage.

They had been subtle at first - the flyer trick something you wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been for Jin, who made sure to check and replace any torn advertisements at the end of each day. The designs had looked so similar that you didn't even double take until the elder had pointed out the word change, how the name of Yoongi's business adorned the top of the page. Jin's eyes were ablaze, but you had just laughed, instructing him to leave the ones he found alone.

But it made you more curious, further intrigued by your flower selling neighbor who took such lengths to garner business, and you couldn't help but want to see what he did next.

It had been Taehyung that grumbled about some tall dark haired boy ruining all your promotional shots, though he had smirked the whole time he showed you the images you ended up with. You recognized that he was a worker at the florist next door almost immediately, the immaculate arrangement he carried carefully in his hands striking your intuition further.

Finally, Taehyung had shouted at him, and you called the boy over to introduce himself despite his red cheeks and ducking gaze. You learned his name was Jungkook and that he was indeed a coworker and friend of Yoongi’s, and that he was just trying to help, though he wouldn't go into much more detail after that. You had chatted with him briefly, offering him a cookie for his troubles, and promised him that you weren’t mad about his attempts at photobombing.

And you were telling the truth - you really couldn't be annoyed at these attempts to thwart your advertising, instead laughing at each new picture, making sure you picked one where the bouquet was clearly visible behind you as you held an open box of 'coo-quets'.

It isn't hatred, you don't think, that drives your neighbor to do this, but you aren't quite sure where to go from here. He still hadn't introduced himself, and with how busy things were during the festival, you hadn't found the time to do the same either, working long hours to keep afloat with your orders and walk-ins. You wanted to ask him why he was so annoyed with you, what he had against your little bakery, but you told yourself there would be time for that later when the heat died down.

Not to mention, Taehyung had been chomping at the bit for an excuse to go introduce himself.

"Y/N," he whined, dragging the last syllable of your name out into an obnoxious tune. "I just want to go make friends! Why won't you let me?"

"Because someone needs to run the register for these customers, Tae. Jin and I are elbow deep in cookie dough, and Jimin can't run both sides of the counter himself."

The tall man sulks, bottom lip jutting out as his caramel hair flops into his face. "You have a point, I guess. But once the festival is done, I'm going to go introduce myself and invite them over for coffee."

You smile at him then, eyeing him from the corner of your vision as your hands continue to delicately trace colored icing on the cookies in front of you. "That sounds like a deal, Tae."

"Oh! Me too though!" Jimin shouts, turning from the counter to glance into the kitchen of your shop. Normally you'd have the doors to the kitchen closed, but with the day about to start, it made it easier to prop them open while you ran back and forth between the two stations. "I want to go say hi too. They look like really cool guys!"

I'd have to agree, you thought to yourself, picturing the sharp eyed man in your mind, but you stay silent.

To say you were startled when you heard a knock at the back door would be an understatement, even more so when you saw who it was - Yoongi, the pouting florist, blonde hair flopped into his face. He was wearing a fluffy white sweater, a dark green apron tied around his neck and waist, and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, like he had been prepping for hours - much like you.

With a single look, you shooed the other men out of the kitchen to the front, opening the door to your guest.

"Well hey! You must be Yoongi, I'm-"

"Y/N."

"Oh, I didn't know you knew who I was!" you smile warmly, gesturing for him to step into the kitchen.

"Well, I had seen you move in, of course. Plus, Jungkook hasn't shut up since he met you," he mutters, shaking his hair out of his face as he took several steps inside. "He's like a stray cat, you know. Once you feed him, he's your friend for life."

That made you laugh, a hand rising to cover your mouth, and you couldn’t help the smirk that follows. "Well, he was too cute not to feed. Is that why you're here? Are you another stray who would like to be fed?"

Yoongi’s cheeks flush then, a dusty red that you think would look perfect in the petals of a rose, and you promise yourself to try to recreate it in frosting later.

“Ha, that’s funny,” he clears his throat, hand coming to rub at the back of his neck. “Actually, I was coming to talk to you to see if we could make an arrangement, you know - as one business owner to another.”

“Is that so?” you raise a brow, hands resting at your hips. “And what kind of deal would that be?”

You're surprised at how honest Yoongi is when he explains his situation, lays his hardships bare before you right there in the stuffy heat of your kitchen. He does manage to at least look a little embarrassed when he admits what he did in order to ramp up business, and you can’t stop your heart from softening as he finishes his request, wringing his hands as he looks at you expectantly. 

“So, what you’re saying is - you want to work together, make something that the festival goers will love but will help both of our shops - is that right?”

He stands tall then, shoulders rolling back as his gaze pierces through your own. “That’s right. Think of it as a ‘I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine’ type of deal.”

“Is this another cat analogy?”

Yoongi groans, and you giggle at the roll of his eyes. 

“I already regret this.”

Stepping closer, you peer up at the florist, watching the way his eyes widen at your proximity. “No, you don’t. And technically I think I’m doing all the scratching here, but that’s okay. I think we could make a good team, Min Yoongi.”

The event is crowded, more so than Yoongi could have ever imagined.

The tables he and you had placed in front of both buildings were stuffed with goods, the heads of your coworkers ducking back inside each entrance to refill them when they got low. Customers were milling about; some taking in the offerings, others lining up in wait to purchase, and the sheer number of people had Yoongi grinning widely.

It was your idea, of course - to offer up a half dozen flowers with a half dozen of cookies, the perfect set. That isn’t to say Yoongi didn’t help; the concept of decorating the tables and dressing formally to stand out being his own, as well as offering to match the flowers and cookies to each other. The red roses and pair set cookies were flying off the shelves fast, but so were the purple calla lilies and pink tulips, which made him smile. 

You had been more enthusiastic with the plan, gladly altering the designs of your ‘coo-quets’ to match, and it was clearly a smash hit. Yoongi thought back to how easily it had been to talk to you, to be honest, to spill his guts - how quickly you were willing to help, how natural it had been to form a plan, to laugh with you, and he felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

Yoongi was thrilled with the sales and popularity, of course, but found himself distracted despite the success. He was happy to see his employees grinning and getting along with your own, glad to see the till fill knowing that he’d be able to pay everyone on time, but more than anything, he was ecstatic to see you smile, to see you shine in the sunset pink summer dress that was brushing the tops of your knees.

He himself had donned some light grey dress pants with a white button down, the sleeves carefully rolled to expose his forearms, jacket long forgotten in the heat of the outdoors. You had beamed at him when he first arrived, nodding approvingly at his attire, and he couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his heart at your approval.

And now as the day wore on, every time his elbow knocked into yours, your bodies stepping and swaying as you worked, Yoongi felt a heat build; a sizzling lick of electricity that was sparking between the two of you that he couldn’t ignore.

“You know,” he leans in, mouth inches from your ear as you grin widely at a customer. “I think we do make a pretty good team, Y/N.”

He relishes in the way your skin warms, in the way he watches your cheeks blush so prettily at his words, and feels hopefulness tighten his chest. 

“We do, Min Yoongi, especially now that you aren’t actively trying to ruin me.” You grit between frozen teeth, your smile unwavering until the patron is out of hearing range. 

“Hey, I didn’t try to ruin anything-”

“Okay, how about ‘mildly inconvenience’ then?”

Chuckling, he raises an arm to rub at the back of his neck, and you follow the lines in his arm as he does so, watching the rippling of muscles beneath the cuff of his rolled up sleeve with interest. 

“I guess that’s fair.”

It was amazing how well things turned out, how fast the day had blown by. Jin had slaved away in the kitchen making sure that there were enough baked goods for everyone, Jimin and Taehyung teaming up with Jungkook and Hoseok from the florist shop to run items back and forth and greet customers. 

But it was Yoongi who had stolen the air from your lungs and any sense you had left rattling in your head. 

You could see now why his business had flourished before you arrived, why the customers continued to return to him when they needed their next arrangement. He was such a good and intent listener, his eyes sharp and focused on whomever was speaking to him. Even in the case of the event, where the flowers were pre-arranged, he still listened, shook and held the hand of each buyer as they spoke, fawning over his flowers. 

It was evident he was passionate about his business, which made the fact that he had been willing to do whatever it took - including partnering up with you - even more admirable.

 The sun was going down by the time things seemed to slow, your hands aching from the intricate icing work and feet throbbing from running around in heels. It seemed that everyone had satisfied smiles of hard work etched on their faces, and pleasant adoration inflated your gut at the sight, especially when you landed on Yoongi. 

The edges of his mouth had finally relaxed, his eyes creasing into half moons more and more as he laughed, stress leaving his body. It was a beautiful sight, if you could admit such a thing.

When the final customer waved goodbye, heading down to the main street for the firework finale of the festival, you left the giddy boys out front to begin cleaning, bones aching at the prospect of all the dishes that needed to be done, but not wanting to drag out the pain any longer than necessary.

“Need some help?” Yoongi was posed in the doorway, arm pressing against the jam, one leg crossed over the other, as if it was normal for him to be effortlessly handsome in sweaty bakery kitchens.

“That would be great,” you smirk, tilting your head. “I wash, you dry?”

And so that’s how you find yourself alone with Yoongi, sweat dotting his hairline as he gives you side glances and small talk over drying mixing bowls. You talk about everything and nothing, conversation flowing freely, and you feel drunk on his proximity, on the way he talks with his hands, the way his voice pitches when he laughs. His white button down is transparent in the spots where water had hit, and even the hint of a peak of his skin made you feel a bit dizzy. 

“Thank you for helping me with all of this, by the way. It would have taken hours to do by myself.”

“It’s no big deal. Plus, I’m sure one of those guys out there would’ve came back if you batted your lashes,” he leers, nodding to indicate the young men of both businesses that were currently playing around out front. “Especially Jungkook. He’s been all ‘Y/N noona this, Y/N noona that’ ever since he met you.”

Handing him a dish, you look up at him through your lashes, blinking coquettishly. “Well, can you blame him? I mean, just look at me. All this and I can cook? I’m the full package.”

You were joking; a teasing lilt to your voice as you refocused on the task at hand, but you could feel the intensity of his stare heating you thoroughly, forcing you to meet his eyes once more. 

“You really are,” he murmurs, voice low but clear, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re funny and talented and so smart that it’s kind of intimidating,” he looks back at the pot in his hand, drying it thoroughly before setting it aside. “But you’re also kind hearted, and willing to listen and help those in need, even when you barely know them.”

He turns then, stepping closer until his breath is fanning across your cheek, his arms caging you to the sink as you turn to face him fully. 

“Not to mention, you’re more beautiful than any flower I’ve ever seen.”

Dropping your head to stifle the giggles, you hear him wince loudly.

“That was pretty cheesy, huh?”

Nodding, you meet his eyes once more. “It was, but I have a few baking puns that will make you cringe.”

“Hit me with one.” 

Raising on your toes, you lean into him, tentatively placing a palm on his chest. “Is that a baguette in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

His shoulders start shaking before he lets out a loud laugh, smile widening to show his teeth in a way that made your heart flip. Catching his breath, he sighs, leaning to rest his forehead against yours.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Wanna find out?”

Kissing Min Yoongi was a whirlwind, a focused intensity pressed in a powerful dance of his mouth on yours. Your lips answered in kind effortlessly, needing no prompting to follow his lead, to pull his bottom lip between your teeth. Electricity sparks at the base of your skull with each touch of his pout, each lick of his tongue into your mouth, and you feel your knees threaten to give out as he cradles your jaw in his hand, holding you in place.

You aren’t sure when your hands had tangled in his hair, or when he had lifted you to straddle his waist, but you found yourself moving, his body twisting to place you on the cool metal surface of your work space. Hissing as the chill bit into your bare legs, you seek the warmth of his mouth harder, legs wrapping around his form to tug him closer to you, to grind your center against him. 

He’s hard, impossibly hard, and he’s whispering all the things he wants to do to you in the shell of your ear, promising all the things he’ll make you feel with his tongue, his cock. You pull him back to your mouth, kissing him deeper, gasping when he dips his finger in the open icing container on the table, dragging it from the edge of your lips down to your chest.

He trails down your throat, sucking and nipping a marked path to your collarbone, licking the frosting off as he goes -  as if it was the sweetest thing - until he reaches your breasts, cupping them. As you pant out groans of his name, you can’t help but think you’re glad that it’s Yoongi who’s hiking your dress up around your waist, that he is the first man to help you defile your quaint bakery’s kitchen, filling it with moans.

It isn’t until you stumble out just shy of an hour later hand in hand with Yoongi, smelling of sex with mussed hair and lips swollen, that you remember your coworkers - and that little window that shows the spacious floor plan of said kitchen. 

Taehyung is shaking his head, tsking quietly with his arm draped around Jungkook. “Shame on you, Y/N. Poor Kookie here was just trying to bring the tables inside to be helpful, and instead he got traumatized.”

Namjoon scoffs then, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t realize ‘getting a boner’ was now considered trauma.”

“Hey!” Jungkook yells, eyes darting between you and Yoongi. “You said you wouldn’t tell!”

Cheeks flushing, you stifle a giggle once more, looking over to the blonde man whose fingers were still intertwined tightly with your own. Instead of embarrassment, or concern, you just feel a giddy flush of joy as you lean into him.

Yoongi sighs, exasperated, free palm rising to rub at the back of his neck. “Remind me again why I don’t fire them?”

“Because you love them. And, they work for cheap.”

Chuckling, he turns towards you, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “I always knew I liked you.”

[bicycle4two]

say you wanna, say you wanna be || Sam Drake x Reader || Chapter 3

Summary: Sam isn't looking for a girlfriend and, frankly, you don't think you'd be a good one anyway, but you two aren't some one-night stand and it's been a long time since either of you thought of each other as a convenient booty call. This is something more, something the two of you didn't realize would be. It's uncharted territory. And there is no other choice but to figure out how to navigate through it together.

Pairing: Sam Drake x Fem!Reader

Tags(ish): developing relationship, implied/non-explicit sexual content, romance/fluff/hurt/comfort, age difference (though reader’s age is not stated), switching povs (second person reader, third person sam), no y/n but reader has a nickname

C.1 || C.2

Chapter Three:

There’s a memory that haunts you from when you were young. It’s always there at the back of your mind, coming up at the most inconvenient of times. Well, it’s not like there is a convenient time for you to remember such a thing but sometimes it catches you when you’re at a really bad place.

Sometimes you remember it when you have one who hides their phones for more reasons than just “privacy,” one who only takes you out when there’s no one around who knows the two of you, one who disappears without a trace only to come back with flowers and excuses, the smell of another woman’s perfume on their clothes.

Sometimes you remember it when there’s nothing for you to worry about, like now, when you’re under Sam, his weight more comforting than suffocating, trying to catch your breath after a mind shattering orgasm. Your ceiling, something that’s never been impressive before, has your full attention as you try to gather yourself, lure your soul back into your body.

“I-I think. I think I lost my vision for a second there,” you breathe out, earning a chuckle from Sam.

“You flatter me, princess.”

“What was that? I can’t hear either,” you push your hair away from your face. It’s damp with sweat. You’re going to need another shower. “I think I entered another dimension. I think I saw God.”

Sam pushes himself off of you and kisses you gently on the lips. You’d think he was asking for another round if he wasn’t as tired as you. “Not God,” he says, voice deep. He’s caught his breath, the rise and fall of his chest steady. It’s kind of funny that a smoker can recover faster than you. “Just me.”

And it’s the word “just” that sticks to you, that repeats itself over and over in your head, that brings forth the memory that you’ve desperately try to keep at the back of your mind, locked up and buried. It’s the memory of a phone screen, a chat with a coded name, pictures of a woman you don’t know. A woman who isn’t your mother that your father messages, saves pictures of.

You were young when you found out, much younger than you are now, and although deep down, you knew, you’ve always known your father was a man who could not be trusted, a man who had straying eyes, long trips with women he called friends, you were hurt. Betrayed. Because you always thought that things like this only happened on TV, in books, to friends and classmates.

But not you.

And yet, here you are, in bed with a man who hides his phone, disappears for long periods of times, and has a history you don’t even know where to begin to look into. A man who acts so much like the ones before, only sweeter, gentler, but still suspicious.

And you’ve been hurt by men like him before and you don’t know if you can take another blow. Not from someone like Sam.

So, you push away the memory and say, “Just you and,” And you hesitate for a second, find the courage somewhere deep inside you to ask, to finally ask, “And it’s just me, right?”

“You scared me for a second,” Sam lets out a breath you didn’t know he was holding and you realize that you had paused at the wrong word, the double meaning. You offer him a small smile, an apology. “Yes, it’s just you.” He confirms and you feel yourself relax, only away now of how tense you were.

“Good,” you say, looking back up at your ceiling. “That’s good. I, uh, I wasn’t sure.”

“This has been bothering you?” Sam gets off of you and you instinctively cover yourself with a pillow as Sam has your blanket thrown over his waist. You never thought you’d have this conversation with him. You never thought you’d get to ask one of your questions and actually get an answer. You wish that you had clothes on for this.

“A bit,” you say. “I know we aren’t, well, a thing, but when I saw you with your sister-in-law and when I didn’t know she was your sister-in-law, I have to say, I panicked.”

“You thought I was cheating on you?” Sam lets out a chuckle like the thought of it is absurd but he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know what went through your mind that day in the café.

“I thought you were cheating on her. I’m not really a fan of being the other woman.”

Sam winces and you can see that there’s something he wants to ask but doesn’t know if he should. Huh. You wonder if you’re that easy to read.

“From experience,” you end up saying anyway, just because you know how it feels to have your questions answered. “It would be nice, I think, if we’re clear on some things. Be on the same page, you know?”

“I’m not looking for a girlfriend.” Sam looks at you straight in the eye, like this is important, that if you don’t get this then that’s that. And you do get it because for all the things you don’t know about Sam, you can at least say you knew this.

“I know. I can’t say I’d be a good one anyway.” You know you can’t base your worth on past relationships but sometimes you can’t help but think that there was something you lacked, that you came up short somewhere, that made the relationships turn sour. Psychopaths and unfaithful husbands aside. “But we aren’t exactly a one-night stand anymore.”

Sam rubs the back of his neck and the action causes you to look at his tattoos, the familiar sight of birds in flight. Tim had mentioned them that day in the café, said something about prison tattoos, and you’d just rolled your eyes at him. But then you think about the scars and gunshot wounds and you can’t exactly say that Sam lives a normal, danger-free life.

“So, what do you want, princess?” Sam asks, reaching down to pick up his shirt. It seems like his clothes weren’t flung too far from the bed. You can see your pants by your bedroom door. “Cuz I don’t know what I can give ya.”

“Well,” you play with the ends of your pillow case just so you have something to do with your hands. There are so many things you want. Answers, for one thing. That’s number one. But Sam looks tired and you sort of feel guilty for springing this on him. Because, again, this isn’t a normal relationship. He doesn’t owe you anything and if you ask for more than he can give, well, this just isn’t going to work.

And you want this to work. You can’t deny yourself that truth. You want whatever it is Sam can give you. So, you say, “It wouldn’t hurt if you’d give me a heads up before you leave for God knows where. It’s not fun thinking you’ve gotten tired of me and just disappeared off of the face of the earth.”

Sam lets out a breath you don’t think he realized he was holding. “A call, I can do that.”

“You can even just text me. Email. I don’t have a pager but if that’s how you work…”

“I’m not that old, princess,” Sam rolls his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll call you. I promise.”

And it’s the word “promise” that sticks to you, that repeats itself over and over in your head, that brings a smile to your face.

 ...

It’s the same old song and dance and you swear you’d give up your left kidney for the tune to change, for the choreography to switch up, because Tim’s on your case again and you’re getting really close to filing a request that you two don’t share the next few shifts together.

(But then Agatha would be questioning you as well and you’re sure that half the questions Tim asks are echoes of Agatha’s and she’s honestly the harder of the two to deal with. So, damnit, you’re going to have to suck it up. Deal with the kid.)

“Is this really the kind of relationship you want to have?” Tim asks, leaning against his broom for support. The café’s closed for the day and the two of you are in charge of cleaning and inventory. Agatha’s in the back, balancing the day’s earnings. 

“This again, Tim?” You glare at the stain on the table your wiping, spraying it once more before scrubbing the surface harder. You’re not going to lie, you’re picturing Tim’s face, attacking your imagination instead of the person. Even if it’s tempting, oh so tempting.

“It’s just weird that he just goes off unannounced and doesn’t come back for weeks.”

“Ever heard of a business trip?” The table is shaking from your force, the surface almost like a mirror from how shiny it’s getting.

Tim scoffs. “I’ve seen your boyfriend—”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“—And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a nine to five office job.” Tim goes back to sweeping even though the floor is clean. He really should get the mop but he hates handling it. “Also, daddy kink? Didn’t think you were the type.”

“Oh my God. It’s not like that!” You groan, throwing your dirty rag at him. Tim yelps when it hits him on the back. Honestly, he should have seen it coming. “And we’ve talked, okay? Ages ago. He doesn’t leave without warning anymore.”

“The bar is really low.”

“Shut up, Tim.” Your phone is ringing, saving you from this conversation and punching your co-worker in the face. “Hello?” You say once you answer your phone, smiling. It’s Sam.

“Hi, princess,” Sam grunts out and you frown at his tone.

“Hi, uh, are you okay?”

Tim is looking at you now, blatantly listening in, and you turn your back to him, facing the painting on the wall. You never really understood this piece, but Agatha likes it.

“Yeah. I’m great! Just—wait a second.” You hear Sam suck in a breath and all of a sudden there’re gunshots. You jump in surprise, shoulders rising, tense, and you have to pull your phone away from your ear from the sheer volume of it. “Okay. I’m back.”

“Sam. Please tell me you’re playing a video game.”

“Huh? Yeah, sure, if that makes you feel better. Wait.” You hear the crunch of gravel, quick and quiet footsteps, and then the sound of surprise before a crack and thud. “Sorry. Anyway, so I have a problem.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what it is.”

“It’s nothing bad. I promise,” his voice is quiet now. Like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him. “Y’see. I told you about my job, right?”

“I mean, all you said was you were going to…I want to say Japan. You were in India last time.”

“Yeah! Beautiful country, by the way. We should go next time.” Sam says in one breath and you feel your heart skip a beat. A trip? With Sam? “If I don’t get banned from the place. Which would be a shame, really, cuz the food’s great—hang on.”

There’re gunshots again and then running. You don’t realize that you’re outside the café until a strong wind blows by. You had walked out the door when it seemed like this wasn’t going to be a normal check in. Which was almost immediately, to be frank. From the corner of your eye, you see Tim watching you, broom still in his hands, the rag on the floor by his feet. You wave him off, turning your attention back to Sam. You hear him shout “This is a goddamn temple! Show some respect!” before he gets back to you.

“Where was I?”

“What the hell is going on, Sam?”

“Nothing to worry about, princess. What there is to worry about is my fish.” Sam’s whispering again, ragged. He’s catching his breath. “Y’see. I told you where I was going but I forgot to tell my little brother and, well, someone has to feed my fish.”

“Oh.” You ignore the crunch and thud you hear from Sam’s line. You’re too busy thinking about this fish you’ve never heard of. There’s so much information to unpack right now but the fish is what you zero in on. It’s the only thing that makes sense. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit’s right. I can’t believe I forgot Jimmy like that.”

Jimmy? “Can, can a fish live this long without food?”

“Now, princess, that’s not the kind of talk I need to hear right now.” There are sounds of movement again. Rustling now, too. Like leaves. “I need you to tell me that Jimmy’s going to be fine. That I did not just leave my fish to die alone.”

“I’ll go to him. Just, uh, I don’t have your key.” You know where he lives, you’ve been there a few times when all of this started, pre-Jimmy, but Sam was always there. You never needed to go there alone and you were never left there alone.

“You have one. I left my spare in your room. Y’know, for emergencies.”

“Were you ever going to tell me that?”

“Didn’t think I had to. It’s in plain sight, princess.” He grunts out. “Listen, I have to go, but check your dresser. It should be there. Save Jimmy!!”

  Jimmy is, thankfully, miraculously, fine. His tank needs a little cleaning but you’ve fed him and made sure that there’s enough water for him to swim around in. The top of his castle was starting to peak out. When that’s all done, you send a picture to Sam. You don’t think he’ll see it anytime soon so you toss your phone away and collapse onto his couch.

You’re tired. Apparently getting Sam’s spare key wasn’t as easy as you thought because after sprinting to the bus stop and up the stairs to your apartment, stumbling into your bedroom, you did not find a key at your dresser. No.

After messing up what was once an organized table, you find a note that was clearly written by Sam stuck on your corkboard along with all your other notes written for yourself. Reminders that you needed to go through before the start of your day. Things you’ve long since memorized and never bother to read anymore. That’s Sam’s idea of an “in plain sight” note. Which is also a clue, a riddle that led you to another part of your room, then to your kitchen, underneath your couch, and then to your bedside table, the side he sleeps on. There you find the key taped under a laminated flower. It was the one you had with you when you’d first met Sam. And if Sam recognized it, and you’re pretty sure he did, well you’re glad he wasn’t around for you to find it.

Your phone rings, jolting you out of your daze. You almost fell asleep, the adrenaline gone. You reach for it, refusing to leave your spot, and manage to answer it before the caller hung up. To your surprise, it’s Sam.

“Finally figured out video call?” You say once his face appears on your screen. His holding his phone a little too close but you don’t correct him, finding it cute.

“And you found the key!” Sam says back. “Thanks for saving Jimmy, princess.”

“I read somewhere that goldfish can actually go two weeks without food.”

“Doesn’t mean he has to. C’mon. That’s my roommate.”

“I’m just saying,” You smile because even you wouldn’t want to leave a fish hungry. “Oh. Also. You and I have completely different interpretations of ‘for emergencies.’”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“If I left you something for emergencies, I’d like to think you’d be able to get to it immediately.” You whip the smile of your face. Exchange it with a raised brow, an unamused gaze. “Making me hunt for clues all over my apartment isn’t something I’d like to do in emergency situations.”

Sam lets out a laugh. “Ah. Well, I guess I picked up a few things from work.”

“It would have bitten you in the ass if I didn’t find that key.”

“I had faith in you, princess.”

...

Chapter 4 

Read on AO3

[incorrectlumityquotes]

FULL REVIEWS: “Covention”

I didn’t think I’d have a harder time doing these reviews on my days off than on a workday, but errands and all that. I had no expectations going into this episode at the time since “covention” is a fake made up word. But I heard Amity was going to be in it, so I got excited. The spice of life returns. It’s been a hot minute. Let’s see how the episode holds up.

The episode starts with one of my favorite cold openings. Super funny and gives a good shot at those books that have that pretentious flowery language. Seriously who says “thou” and “hast” anymore. Lame. Luz tossing King into the portal right when it closes was my favorite bit. Was Eda really going to go to the human world just for that? 

Also I didn’t notice until someone pointed it out but I guess they’re using Azura and Hecate as some kinda parallel to Luz and Amity. Hope Amity doesn’t find out that she’s not the Azura character. Does that mean that Eda is that old ass lady and King is that little fox dog thing? That’s not cool, man. Be nice.

So much can be read into it, but that’s for another blog post for another time.

And of course, dumb-dumb me had to wait until the word was said out loud to realize that it was a play on the words “coven” and “convention.” So basically it’s a con episode. Cov episode? Whatever. Big brain hurt.

Relationships are a give and take and sometimes you gotta give in. Sorry, Eda.

I don’t know about you guys, but I never really had a lot of fun going to cons. The only part I really liked was meeting my favorite voice actors and watching indie wrestling. All the food, merch, and art was always overpriced and from shows I don’t watch. I don’t join video game tournaments because those people take the games way too seriously. Plus the area that I live in isn’t known for being big on nerd culture so the cons are never that impressive. I met Steve Blum last time and went to one and you can only go down from there so I don’t think I’ll be going to another one any time soon.

I caught this first time I saw it on TV. Luz and Willow arm in arm. Maybe in another life I would be shipping Luz & Willow. Maybe maybe. Also, Skara in the background. I think her design is really cute. Maybe she’ll get an episode in season two. Maybe maybe.

More lore and more worldbuilding which people really seemed to want and we got it. Eda explains that while covens seem like cool groups to belong to, they also strip you of all the other kind of magic you can do. Why? My theory was (and is) that about fifty years ago a bunch of religious and political hustlers got together and tried to figure out a way to control people. Really keep them in line. They knew that people were basically stupid and would believe anything you told them, so they announced that this one guy could talk to the titan that the Isles were based of off. This one guys says that only he could talk to the titan and hear what the titan was saying and that only he could do all kinds of magic. Everyone else is doing it wrong and only he’s doing it right. With no proof or evidence, but trust him he’s on the level. The Boiling Isles was just doing fine before him, but now all of a sudden, we’re all doing it wrong. Let that be a lesson to you, kids. If anyone tells you anything like that, it’s bullshit.

Also the nine covens. Why nine? Why not group the bard and illusionary covens together into the music video coven? Why does potions get its own coven? How much school do you really have to take to learn to mix shit together and stir? Wouldn’t the plant magic coven know something about using plants to make potions? Why does the construction coven get it’s own coven? Couldn’t you use any kind of magic to build things? Is the construction coven the blue collar coven? Beast keeping gets it’s own coven? Like the bitch at the plant coven needs to switch covens to be told to feed her dog? My theory, the nine covens was really a marketing decision. Ten sounds too official. They knew that if it was too neat and tidy, they’d know something was up. Would they though? I don’t think so. 

Any group that has their own stormtroopers is automatically evil. Even more proof that the coven system is bullshit.

“Distraction spell!”

This moment made me laugh so damn hard. The crap that Eda pulls is one of the highlights of the show for me.

Luz and Eda go check out The Emperor’s Coven panel in the main hall, and we’re introduced to another major character. Enter Lilith, Eda’s older sister. And I swear to you guys, I was so confused this entire time on who was the older and who was the younger sister until the season finale. Seriously, I kept getting mixed messages. I mean, I know now but give me a break here.

I think Lilith is a good character and a great foil to Eda. The fun part is that since they are sisters, Eda knows exactly how to push her buttons and drag Lilith down to her level. It’s always fun to see a stoic character break. 

My finger points.

Amity shows up which automatically makes this episode better. Luz properly introduces herself and we get more back-and-forth. Amity being a real bitch here is more to mislead us for the last act of the episode, but when I first saw it I thought it was more confirmation that Amity was going to be the Draco Malfoy-clone of the series. Glad I was wrong.

We get more of Luz trying to make life play out like her favorite stories and challenges Amity to a witch’s duel. A thing she read in Azura that she has no clue whether or not is a thing in The Boiling Isles. There’s an equal chance that Amity could have just shaken her head and be like, “The fuck is a witch’s duel? That sounds like something you just made up.”

Also Amity should have caught that Azura reference from the start, but then that kinda would have spoiled Lost in Language, huh?

Again, Luz needs to learn that life does not play out like it does in her favorite stories. Challenging your rival to a duel is cool on paper but a big “Yeah no” IRL. Especially since she knows no real offensive spells, no defensive spells, is a weak nerd who has probably never been in a real fight in her life and has no fighting spirit. Trust me guys I learned the hard way. Life is not a shonen anime. You can’t settle anything by fighting. 

I love mentor/mentee stories especially when they have a rival mentor/mentee pair. Too bad Dana has already said that Amity and Lilith were not close at all. It was more a relationship of convenience. But then again that would help witch whole foil angle. Lilith and Amity just use each other to get ahead while Eda and Luz do actually build a familial bond. 

The duel goes...exactly the way I thought it would. Honestly. The cheating, the whole fight just breaking down, even Lilith and Eda doing an actual witch’s fight. Totally saw it coming. What I didn’t see coming was the bad ass animation they used for the Lilith/Eda fight and...

The Amity scene. The big reveal that Amity is not a Draco Malfoy clone (I only saw the first four movies). She’s just a girl who thinks people should follow the rules, hates cheaters and is under a lot of pressure to succeed. Only someone as empathic as Luz and try to keep building that bridge and try to make things right with Amity, but that’s a whole other episode.

.

And the episode ends with another great lesson I really like. “Will I ever be a true witch?” “I don’t know. What’s a true witch?” There are always expectations and pressure put upon you to be a true something. Others will want you to conform into a label for one reason or another. But all those expectations and labels are just illusions. It reminds me of a Bruce Lee quote. When an interviewer asked Bruce if he considers himself Chinese or American, he answers that he considers himself, “a human being.”

Labels can be fun because it makes it easier for the brain to organize things, but when people put too much stock into these labels problems arise. Think of labels as a boat to get you across the river. Once you cross the river you leave the boat behind. You don’t carry the boat with you. That’s just dumb.

“Witch please”

FINAL SCORE: 5 - Loved it.

Hot take, Amity makes every episode better. More funny jokes, more worldbuilding, more Amity and hints at the main villain of the show. Lilith was a great addition and the episode hints at the main plot. Probably the most fun I’ve ever had at a con. And speaking of more Amity...

[thevioletjones]

Wow, congrats on the kudos, that a big number you hit there. The prompt list is very fun and I like two, so you can choose between 18 and 38 :)

Thank you! I included both and it came out really cute, actually!

Prompt 1: “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” + “Watch me.”

Long Overdue

“Yo,” said Lip, bursting through the door of the Gallagher house.

Ian was lounging on the couch next to Mickey; Franny and Freddie happily playing at their feet.

“What up?” he asked his brother.

“You’re not gonna believe this shit…” Lip’s gaze flicked back and forth between the couple.

“Okayyyy?” replied Ian.

“I just dropped by the Kash and Grab for a pop, and guess who the fuck is back in Chi-town?”

Ian grimaced and glanced at Mickey, whose eyebrows suddenly shot up very high.

“Fuckin’ Towelhead?” Ian’s tactless husband inquired, his voice going high at the end.

“Nice bigoted slur, Mick,” Lip deadpanned, eyes snapping back to Ian, “but yeah.”

Ian could honestly say he hadn’t thought about Kash in years. He hadn’t even seen Linda around, since he avoided his old job premises like the plague, on account of the many weird, ancient memories attached to them. It wasn’t really an imposition, seeing as there were countless other convenience stores in the neighborhood. That entire chapter of his life was so closed, he didn’t care to think on it. Save the Mickey part, obviously, but even then he preferred to edit certain things out. Fuck knows they were always drowning in drama in the beginning; were maybe still known to swim in some, but the waters seemed a lot more navigable now that they were adults with rings on their fingers.

Ian just shrugged, unwilling to make himself care again, but Mickey shot to his feet.

“You know how long I’ve wanted to get even with that piece of shit?” he exclaimed, cracking his knuckles and stretching his neck muscles.

Ian exhaled loudly and stood up too. “Mick,” he said in a tone of warning. “Everything that happened with Kash was a long fucking time ago, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore. Let it go.”

“Fuck you I’m gonna let it go.”

Ian sighed and glanced around, Lip looking much more amused than he should be for getting Mickey riled up like this, before meeting his husband’s gaze again. “Can we talk about this in private, please?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, turning heel. “You can follow me to where I keep my Glock.”

It was times like these that made Ian want to knock him upside the head with a large fist, merely to save his ass from pulling stupid shit that could get him thrown back in prison. He followed him up the stairs and shut the door behind them as Mickey rifled around their sock drawer for the locked case they now kept their weapons in.

“Mickey,” Ian pleaded again in a stern voice, “I’m serious about this. You can’t go bringing this bullshit back to life. What’s the point?”

Mickey chuckled derisively as he unlocked the box. “The point is that’s the fucker who put a damn bullet in me and sent me to juvie. Not to mention, he fuckin’ statch-raped you when you were a goddamn moony-eyed, baby-faced kid. Dickhead’s gotta pay.”

He pulled the 9mm out and checked the chamber. Ian placed his hand over it to stop him.

“You don’t gotta explain to me why he’s a dirtbag creep, okay? I’m just sayin’ that it’s irrelevant now. What’s done is done. Takin’ a gun down to the store like it’s 2011 is a terrible idea. How many times do I have to beg your stupid ass not to get arrested again, huh?”

Mickey cocked the slide with a slick click and shoved the gun in the back of his pants. “I don’t give a shit how long it’s been. How come that bastard never got thrown in the damn clink? Back in the day, we used to bury pedos in the backyard. Street justice ain’t got a statute of limitations.”

It was Ian’s turn to roll his eyes. “Bullshit this is about street justice. You just have a vendetta, cuz he popped you one and got you busted. Don’t try to make it about defending my honor.”

“It can be two things, Gallagher. This dude deserves to get robbed, shot, and strung up by the balls. I’d do more, but ya know, not worth takin’ the time.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“Maybe at one point I did, so what?”

“So? So you can’t just resurrect this crap, Mick! You’re gonna give him the opportunity to fuck up our lives again? It’s not worth it. You can’t do this.”

“Watch me.”

Mickey tried to slip past him then, but Ian stepped back and leaned heavily on the door, barring his dumbass husband from getting to it.

“I’m not watching shit, Mickey. Put the damn gun back and cool the hell off.”

“Get outta my way, Gallagher. I’m fuckin’ serious.”

“What are you gonna do, shoot me instead?”

Mickey’s face became very serious, but Ian wasn’t shaken. “Ian. Back… the fuck… off.”

“No.” He shook his head adamantly. “Don’t make me fucking tackle you to the floor. You didn’t even switch the safety back on, you degenerate.”

“I’m gonna count to three. You better move.” Mickey was pointing in his face very authoritative like.

Ian couldn’t hold in his snort, and that just made him crack up, as Mickey’s shoulders slumped and he looked both indignant and resigned.

“I’m so tired of fighting with you, Mick. Can you please just stop? If it really means that much to you to get some petty revenge on Kash, then let’s come up with something better than rehashing an old storyline, okay?”

Mickey glared at him for a minute, then rubbed his lips together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that maybe if we do it the right way, we could get him some jail time just like you think he deserves.”

“Like I think—” Mickey started. “Bitch, you should think he deserves it more than anyone. You were what? Thirteen? Fourteen? The fuck, man?”

Ian stepped forward again and put his arms around Mickey, trailing his left hand down toward the waistband of his husband’s pants.

“Are you done?” He eased the gun out and deftly flipped the safety on, walking them both backwards until he could set it on the dresser.

Mickey’s breath was hot on his neck, and he was somewhat red in the face. “Can’t believe you’re still protecting that motherfucker.”

“For the last time, you’re the only one I’m protecting here. You and me. Get that through your thick fucking Milkovich skull, okay? And if you do, maybe I’ll reward you in some way.”

Mickey’s body was still rigid against him as he scoffed, “You can’t bribe me with sexual favors anymore, dipshit. We’re fuckin’ married. Bangin’ is part of the damn contract, ain’t it?”

“Not if I don’t want it to be.”

Mickey laughed truly and deeply. “Yeah, okay, Captain Horndog. I could stay away from you longer than you could stay away from me. Guarantee that shit.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Jesus Christ, I thought this was a negotiation for me gettin’ a reward. I’d rather just redeem it for cash value. Which wouldn’t be much.”

“Hey!” Ian cried in affront.

Mickey just cackled again, backing up toward their bed. “Get over here with your dumb dick, then, Firecrotch. My ass ain’t gonna fuck itself.”

“I don’t know why I married you.”

“Yeah you do.”

Yeah, he did.

[ask-brainysmurf]

hi brainy! i have a question - are there any gay smurfs in your village? do you all have gender and stuff?

Gender is still a new concept to Smurf Village. It used to be that we all smurfed pronouns humans dub "masculine," for convenience's sake. Then we found Smurfy Grove.

That was certainly whiplash. First of all, the fact there were so many girl Smurfs. Second, Smurfette calling me a "boy Smurf." I was too confused and oversmurfed to correct her at the time- and when I tried to correct her later, she joked that I was "certainly not a girl." Of course, not being a real Smurf, she doesn't understand. I'm not a boy or a girl, I'm a Smurf. I'm not a man or a woman, I'm a Smurf. Being called a boy Smurf is uncomfortable for me, and I'm sure I'm not the only one.

But even some real Smurfs believe the existence of girl Smurfs mean that our species was intended to be separated into "male" and "female" as many species are. I find this notion unsmurfy. They may be "girls," but I assure you neither type of Smurf can produce offspring from our bodies- we simply don't have the parts for it- and their role in producing offspring is what makes animals "male" or "female." There isn't even a real binary, since I could easily smurf myself into a girl using a simple spell, one that's easy enough to cast accidentally!

There's a weird group of girls who are completely against any ""boys"" (and no, they don't seem to care how uncomfortable that term makes me. They all idolize Smurfette, and she says us Smurfs with less hair are boys, so they think we're all boys) wearing dresses or makeup, because they think we're "trying to be like them." They've smurfed onto Smurfette, and Smurfette has smurfed onto human gender roles, so they have as well. It's gotten out of hand, too, because I know Smurfette is fine with ""boys"" wearing dresses. The girl group that formed to try and please her just isn't.

The worst part is, Smurfstorm seems close to joining this group, and I know that would emotionally devastate Clumsy. I get why she's close to joining- a lot of her friends are in there, and they're not there to idolize Smurfette. They're trying to keep hold of their Grove culture after the Grove was destroyed. But that's really not the way to do it.

Then there's the girls who refuse to smurf any sort of gender system, which includes calling all of us Smurfs with less hair by feminine terms. Hefty Smurf cannot handle being called a "she," and I almost feel bad for him.

Clumsy seems to be having fun with this new concept of gender. He's been switching back and forth between feminine and masculine whenever he feels like it. Most Smurfs mistakenly try and smurf him that that's not how it works, but I know better. It's nice to see him enjoying himself, even if it's with something that's caused so much chaos. (That's why I'm so worried about Smurfstorm potentially joining the "strict gender roles" group, because the two of them are close friends and I don't know if she would still respect him.)

So, as to whether there's gay Smurfs or not- I don't know. The concept of gender is a loose and nebulous thing I want no part in, especially if people try and make it rigid. I don't have a gender, so I don't have a gender to be gay for. Does that make me not gay? What technically counts as a romantic relationship, anyhow?

...Smurf it all, I wish there were still only 107 of us. Then I wouldn't have to deal with politics and crazy gender cults and revolutionaries. Back when the only girls we had were Smurfette, Sassette, and Nanny, and I stayed blissfully unaware of Smurfette's opinions on gender. Back when people calling me a boy was a funny thing I could laugh at, because it was always other species and I always brushed it off as them being ignorant of our Smurfy ways. And back when the only opinions that could ruin a relationship were about how to say compound words. (As a southeasterner myself, I have strong opinions on that subject.)

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 21

First time reader click here

TWs/SUMMARY: Wanda fluff, Loki fluff, we're getting a whole ass friendship! Dad sucks. The outfits are neat tho! Check the end for a mood board 😍

a/n: dress inspo and aesthetic visuals can be found here, here and here. (Paolo Sebastian, Firefly Path gowns and Viona Ielegems photography).

"Gi-i-irl..." Wanda drawled, seeing me arrive with Tony, both of us freshly showered and still hazy from the amazing orgasms. God only knew what she'd seen in both of our heads - if judging only by the vivid, crimson blush she spouted, it was definitely something very NSFW. Bruce already sat at the dinner table, quietly slurping his soup, his back and shoulders the most relaxed I'd ever seen. He gave me a knowing smile once he noticed my presence in my usual spot by his side.

The rest of the team appeared completely oblivious, preoccupied by their food.

"So, about the party. Got any costume ideas?" I cut straight to the chase, unwilling to wait for Wanda to start asking for details right in front of everyone.

Steve, Bucky, Pietro, Thor and Natasha all answered affirmative, the latter whacking Clint upside the head and firmly stating "no funny business". I couldn't help but wonder what kind of crazy shit the Bird had in mind and was kind of disappointed at Nat's intervention. A good chaotic moment was always worthwhile in my opinion!

The other bird, Sam, approached Bruce with caution as he wondered if the scientist was interested in doing a paired costume with him, only to be interrupted by Tony declaring, with childish glee, he had a "wicked project" that he and Bruce would be doing together. The scientist gave a resigned sigh and apologized.

Sam wasn't deterred by the slight setback; he approached Clint instead and after being given an okay from Natasha, the Birds decided to pair up. As they should, if you'd ask me.

"I have a costume but I need some accessories. Wanda, Lokes, join me on my lil' shopping trip?" I prompted, wanting everybody to be included. I was fully prepared for Loki to scoff and dismiss my invitation but the Asgardian nodded after a second of brief speechlessness. Didn't anyone invite him to birthday parties as a kid? Either way, Thor gave me a grateful smile, like a proper big brother. Both Asgardians had grown visibly closer during the past couple of months which made me hide a secretive smile behind a spoonful of soup.

It turned out, Loki hadn't exactly been introduced to the buzzing beehive that is NYC. He didn't get out much and when he needed to be somewhere, the man simply teleported to the desired destination. As convenient as it must've been, I still expressed my outrage at his lack of experience doing the usual "touristy" things that, in my opinion, every non-newyorker was obligated to do when visiting. Yes, even if said visitor had literally traveled across different galaxies.

Wanda wasn't much better in terms of city knowledge. According to her, she'd lived here for several years already but never bothered to go beyond the borders of the block surrounding the Avengers tower. The witch didn't have friends outside of her teammates (therapy. they all needed so much therapy. y'all...) so she simply saw no point in going anywhere beyond the local mall.

Which was trash. I mean, I loved Hot Topic and Forever 21 as much as any other young adult with depression and anxiety but it was literally impossible to wear clothes made out of cheap cotton and polyester all the time. I'm pretty sure I would have hives and ulcers if I attempted that.

"We're going on Sixth Avenue and that's final. No friend of mine will be wearing shit from Wal-Mart at a Stark party," I interrupted Wanda's defensive stuttering, using my other hand to summon an Uber.

"That is good advice," Loki, previously silent, added in a sweet tone. I counted on the fashionable Asgardian to be on my side and with his schmoozing skills, I didn't even have to drag Wanda inside the car by, like, her hair or whatever. The three of us barely fit into the small Toyota anyway.

A thought struck me when I had to consciously avoid stepping on Loki's leather shoes and keep away my elbow from Wanda's stomach. "Mister? I'll give you a hundred bucks cash if you turn around and drive to this address," I hurriedly rattled off my home address, delighting in the way the driver nearly did a U-turn at the mention of crispy dollar bills.

We arrived home quickly. Wanda gaped in mild disbelief at the size of my house while Loki looked about as interested as he'd ever be. His face was akin to an expression one made while smelling fresh manure. Opening the garage, I was greeted with an unpleasant surprise of my dad's outrageously painted Corvette standing neatly by my white Range Rover.

Loki looked and felt considerably less tense in the back of my car. The subtle signs of discomfort all but left his face replaced by slight wonder as I explained how to adjust the temperature and turn on the heated seats.

Dad met us at the gates. "You didn't come in to say hello," He pouted. His breath reeked like a five-day drinking binge hangover and he looked a dead man.

"We're in a hurry, dad. There's a lot to be done," I replied curtly, hoping to get rid of him fast. I hated being sober around my drunk father. My fingers twitched on the steering wheel.

"You're like your mother, always busy," Dad's laugh was coarse and bitter. "But at least you find time for Stark and his friends. That'll do your future real good," He clapped once on the hood of my car, heading back to the house with a wave of his hand, just in time to miss the disgusted shudder that ran through me.

I knew my dad well enough to understand the implications of what he meant by his words. In his world, fucking way up to the top was considered the norm. I'd rather cut off my own foot than use Tony that way.

"Sorry you had to see that. I thought he was still in Cali," I gritted my teeth, pulling out of the driveway.

"I'm sorry you had to experience that. I have no kind words regarding your father," Loki's look was sympathetic in the rearview mirror.

"Or your mother," Wanda added, messing with her seatbelt. Loki nodded tersely.

"Aight, aight," I sighed, set on improving the mood. "Let's not poop this party. We're getting some absolutely delicious beverages and wasting my money on outrageous pretty things. My treat."

Wanda's protests were drowned out by Motorhead and Loki's grumbling was overshadowed by Guns'n'Roses. Their resistance didn't stand a chance. Few blocks out, the witch was singing along to November Rain, heavily accented and terribly off-key, and the Asgardian watched New York city intently behind the protection of the tinted rear windows of my ride. He seemed mesmerized by the crowds and the variety of colorful shop fronts. This was the the one and only reason I eased off the gas pedal and drove the speed limit for once.

The atmosphere was, well, magical. Looking at my two companions, I discovered the familiar city anew with every question they asked, every remark they made. The desire to ask in turn about their homelands melted like the tension I was harbouring after the run-in with my father. Content and warm, I had my attention divided between Loki and Wanda juggling their wonder back-and-forth between themselves and the absolutely crazy NYC traffic.

So what if I parked in a no-parking zone just to get us the most delicious coffee in the city? Loki, the resident tea person, ordered himself something unpronounceable, something that made the barista twitch. Wanda got a sugary-sounding vanilla-white chocolate perversion. I just got a mocha, having had outgrown my adolescent desires to experiment with "how sweet can I make this coffee before I literally puke?" beverages.

With a laugh, I instructed them to pose in front of the nearest reflective surface to brag about our coffees on Instagram - this café deserved more recognition. My companions reluctantly obliged.

I wonder if the barista realized just who had bought the coffee - Loki was quite a media darling when it came to fangirls. Tony's PR team did a wonderful job on the Asgardian's redemption arc. The trickster only fueled the utter devotion his fangirls had for him by being extra nice and charming in every video I've seen. I guess you can't out-mindcontrol manners outta somebody, he was raised a prince after all.

It wasn't raining but the autumn chill seeped into the tiny spaces between my layers of clothing. I already managed to regret my fashionable dark academia inspired outfit at least twice, however the matching vibe all three of us had was positively dashing. Loki, wearing his usual onyx black and dark green. Wanda with a burgundy sweater dress and thigh high platformed boots - sweater dresses, out of all things, had no business looking this good on anybody. But she pulled it off.

"You said you've got a costume. Mind sharing what it is?" The witch said, curiously peeking into the windows of a nearby vintage boutique as we took our leisurely stroll with steaming paper cups keeping our fingers warm.

"A fairy dress. It was custom made for me last year and I actually didn't get to wear it. I need some jewelry to go with it," I explained, stopping to show a photo of the dress on my smartphone. "And some shoes, too. Let's hope the party will be held completely indoors, otherwise I'll freeze my ass off."

"Custom made?" Wanda squeaked, looking at the garment in wonder. Loki gave a vaguely approving nod.

"Yeah, there's a company that makes these fantasy dresses. You want one? What did you have in mind for your costume anyway?" I switched the topic quickly, seeing how Wanda withdrew into herself slightly. I heard from Peter she grew up poor, in the middle of a war and I didn't want to make her feel bad or anything. I wasn't good at these things...

"I thought maybe I could match with you," She replied, slowly taking a sip of her coffee.

"Sure. There are a couple of shops with really cute dresses that fit the aesthetic." Marchesa. We need a Marchesa store. And a Zuhair Murad - if there was one on this stretch of road. "What about you, Lokes? Anything in particular strike your fancy?" I asked our silent companion, frantically googling the information I needed.

"Black," He answered moodily.

"Boo, you whore," I rolled my eyes at his scoff. We had watched the Mean Girls recently and he got the reference, immediately raising a sarcastic eyebrow. "You know, you could do so much with this pale aristocratic look you've got going on. How about a medieval vampire?"

"Like Lestat? He's fucking hot," Wanda and I understood each other promptly. She jumped on the bandwagon immediately.

Combining my blunt honesty and her adorable fawning over a fictional bloodsucker, we managed to convince Loki into going on a hunt for brocaded, velvet suits and blouses with ruffles for his look. The trickster revolted at the mere suggestion of procuring some fake fangs, instead magically making them appear and showing them off in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, much to my and Wanda's delighted shrieking. He looked, I daresay, very attractive, like a porcelain figurine. Delicate but dangerous.

We arrived at the store that showcased beautiful, airy dresses of silk, chiffon and tulle. The lace was delicate and the seams invisible. I ushered Wanda into a dressing room with a shop attendant that was quietly but strictly instructed to not discuss the cost of the dresses and hide the price tags.

"I want it to be a gift. My friend here deserves no less than a magical experience," I explained quietly, winking at a bewildered Loki.

"Why did you do that?" He asked once Wanda was given a selection of several dresses in flattering colours and led into a separate dressing room.

"These dresses, they're special so they're a bit pricey. And knowing Wanda, she'll make a scene and refuse to let me buy them for her," I idly twirled my phone in my hands. "But every girl wants to be a princess and it's kinda sad she never got to be one. It's more than just a dress, it's more than feeling pretty, although it's a big part of it. She'll feel on top of the world."

Loki nodded. I'm certain he didn't understand it - being a man and all - and I wasn't sure I understood it completely, too. I never lacked pretty or expensive things, always got whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. But for a moment, I thought how it must've been for Wanda - seeing all these girls on TV, looking like pictures - and never having the chance to experience that. A concept that made me so sad, I was tempted to ask the customer service person for a glass of scotch. Being poor sounded depressing as hell.

Suddenly, Loki's cool, large hand landed on mine. "Thank you. I am certain Wanda will be the most beautiful lady at the ball."

I stared at him. Loki understood.

"Well, I... I don't know how finicky you are on gender labels for clothes, but there were a couple of blouses you might want to check out. They've got the neck ruffles and shit." My throat suddenly seized up and I had to clear it before speaking, steering away from the uncomfortably emotional moment. Thankfully, Loki wandered off without as much as a word.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

& the promised aesthetic